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Before him just under a score of Reciprocators looked back. His lips and throat, parched from long-forgotten thirst grated as he swallowed, contemplating the difficult course he must navigate that evening. What should have been at the top of his list, namely the Hedgewards inclusion policy and the deaths of the non-wizards in Hull by possible Conjurists, were tucked away in his mind as he considered both his brother and his nephew.

"How is Septimus?" The business of the moment, namely the rotas and the increasing number of security shifts to support the Ministry being chaired by James Potter and debated by the members, continued in the background as Lily smiled at him and whispered near his ear.

"He seems to be coping, what with the news of his mother," replied Caelius quietly. "I am concerned about him, so quiet that he is. I do think going to Hedgewards will help him." He tried not to catch Lily's eye. A politician he might be but he was no substitute for a father, or a mother come to that. He knew what Lily thought of how he was caring for Septimus, why Sam would now be in their cottage keeping the lad company and why he would be fed the moment he floo'd into Number 12's living room as if he hadn't seen food for a month.

Caelius knew too that he was not as comforting a presence as Aberforth; he hadn't the manner, or the connections to Hedgewards. By rights Severus Snape should be standing here with him – Aberforth Dumbledore had chosen two successors, in reality even if it was he, Caelius, who held the secrets of the Reciprocators. Perhaps it would have been better, Caelius mused, if Aberforth had named Snape as his successor – if he had then, at least, Caelius's life would be less chaotic. He could then care for Septimus how he wanted to, rather than how he had to.

But Aberforth chose him to carry on and all of them, himself included, had to get on with it. At least he hadn't had to be headmaster too; Severus had that honour and, when it came to professional matters they worked seamlessly together.

"…an update from the hospital. Has anyone been to see Remus and Sirius recently?" At the mention of his brother's name, Caelius jerked his head into the present moment. He realised too that the Reciprocators were looking at him: the Potters; Molly and Arthur Weasleys; Bill, Charlie and the twins; Tonks; Alastor Moody, Dilys Crudglington; Arabella Figg; Minerva McGonagall, Benjamin Wergs and Bertie Griffin, Bathsheba Braddle…

"I was there this morning," managed Caelius, collecting his thoughts quickly and shooing the horrific image of Remus's still-unhealed neck and throat, ashen skin and lifeless body out of his mind. "There's been little improvement in my brother's improvemrnt – " he inhaled and looked around the group again: so many absent too, " – but Sirius…he is luckier."

"Is he conscious, then?" Tonks's voice trilled out in hope.

"Sirius is still unconscious," Caelius replied carefully, trying not to make eye contact with anyone for too long, "but he is luckier than Remus." Did they really need clarification when it was him saying it.

"We can rely on Severus to work on Remus's condition, though." James's comment fell short of asking the question and his statement was clipped.

"He has the reports, he had taken some measurements. St. Mungo's send him daily accounts of his progress." It didn't really answer James's unvoiced question, but that was the reality. "Sirius needs to regain consciousness before he can receive treatment."

"Well," growled Moody, "he is nothing if single-minded."

"Indeed," replied Caelius, hoping no-one else had any questions on this emotive topic. "We know he has been working on the cure for vampirism for several years and it has proven difficult. We have the reports from the Ministry regarding the attacks in Hull," he pressed on despite sensing that people wanted to ask and talk about their colleagues and friends. The meeting had to be quick on his part in any case even though he was comforted by talking about his brother and would have gladly have talked longer about Remus.

"It would appear that two non-wizards were attacked without any evidence of provocation by known Conjurists."

"They were winding them up," opposed James evenly. "How often does that happen? Not many people can resist retaliation." There was a pause. James Potter in his youth had been the cause of more fights with non-wizards than all of the rest of the reciprocators present there that evening put together.

"All right, all right," James protested a little sheepishly, "I've had my moments." His tried not to look at Lily, over whose fair features the majority of fights had been for he knew that his wife's eyes would be boring into the side of his head. "All I'm saying is that wizards will fight back, and use magic at that. Conjurists…well: from what you've said, Caelius, these particular Conjurists were looking for a fight."

"Indeed," confirmed Caelius nodding at James's insightful surmising. "Assault by means of magic is clear in law, as it has been for more than a decade. These wizards are the subject of an investigation by Mr. Malfoy's department and will be arrested." Around Caelius nods of agreement came fervently,

"Yet what is not so easily explainable is that the Cruciatus Curse and Avada Kedavra were used on a non-wizard woman walking back from the shops along the Hessle Road, just outside Hull City Centre in broad daylight the same day. You can hardly call that provocation."

"It is conjurists in particular, then?" Minerva McGonagall's words were no question despite its intonation.

"We've arrested several; many of them said they were provoked," replied Caelius carefully, addressing them all. "However several serious offenders have admitted to instigating several of them in the name of the…purity of magic."

"Purity of magic?" Caelius's words were loudly mocked in outrage and disbelief by nearly all of the members before descending into localised chatter.

"That is what many believe," continued Caelius, his voice steady, over the diminuendo of infuriation. "Or are being goaded into believing at any rate. Much of this is influence comes from outside the country – "

"Bloody instant floo messaging!" responded Benjamin, shaking his head.

"It's the pensieves that are the problem!" replied Bathsheba.

"The Interflame," added Arabella Figg, shaking her head. "I don't understand none of it. By Merlin, I do not." This time, instead of talking over the chatter Caelius allowed it to die away naturally.

"It is their growing communication using pensieves which is the trouble," he continued, beginning to clench his fingers into a ball behind his back. "While we can, theoretically trace the origin of any one message the fact still remains that the original sender can send the message to scores, hundreds, thousands of pensieves within seconds and before we can get to the sender's location the message has been transmitted again and again to users. The message can be stored, retrieved, amended." He looked at the expectant faces around him; clearly the gravity of the situation was lost on many of them. "The fact is the capacity of the Otherworld where these stored memories pass is infinite. It can cope with the pensieves sending memory messages to other pensieves – "

"Tabitha again," smiled Lily.

" – indeed, indeed," nodded Caelius impatiently. "But it's the mere transmission of such divisive, bigoted messages so quickly, so widely that is of great concern to us." At last, several nods around the room, looks of mutual concern and low whispers. "We cannot hold back on technology, we cannot uninvent it. However, the Conjurists' numbers are growing and their ideas are becoming more widespread, more dangerous. The Ministry has to act…keeping trouble and danger away from ordinary people and try to prevent the outbreak of serious uprising to continue as normal.

"Continue as normal?" exclaimed James, aghast. "With Remus and Sirius injured?" Around him, James's sentiment was echoed with nodding heads and "yeahs" and "right" echoing around Grimmauld Place's living room.

"I believe the combined government are going to become tougher. Factions of non-wizard ministers are already talking about martial law and I know that, unless our response is swift and efficacious the situation could well become grave, dire – "

"It's already grave and dire!" James shook his head and looked down, folding his arms. Lily reached down to hold his hand, her lips pursed so as to keep her silence."

" – and we could have civil war on our hands," finished Caelius, trying not to be defensive but failing dismally. " Look, Joseph Black successfully put down similar circumstances by establishing the Reciprocator movement as we all know. We now must – "

"What do you suggest we do?" Lily interrupted him and for a moment, Caelius stared at her, wondering whether her question was genuine. He swallowed and his dry throat grated. For what were they to do? Had he been Aberforth he knew that he would have known exactly what to do. Work day and night visiting Conjurists and telling them that magic they recognised and strongly identified with had not been sidelined? Continue blithely on with the integration programme at Hedgewards to further infuriate certain ways of thinking?

"We need to visit the covens, talk reasonably," he said firmly. " Allow witches and wizards there to freely express their opinions no matter how shocking. Then we can address – "

"But you speak of action!" pleaded James. "You say that the government already proposes force and you want us to be reasonable?"

"This is our action," replied Caelius evenly, his brain keeping his politician-cool mind on the track and ignore the little voice of concern nudging him about his brother's plight and the other part which felt like voicing aloud his personal outrage that James had as good as ignored the fact that it was his brother who was so severely ill.

"What good would it to be heavy-handed? What good might? Some will listen to reason. Many have been swept along by the newness of the thing and probably don't really want to be there at all. I was originally going to propose that our movement become more public, speak to the Prophet and the non-wizard newspaper articles, magazines and the like, but I am aware that, since these attacks it may prove more fruitful to employ a subtle, more sustained approach." He stopped and allowed silence to descend like a delicate drape around the room giving his audience a chance for the explanation to sink in.

"We should vote on it," said James eventually, standing up wearily as he broke the silence. "Before that, we need to hear all the information to make an informed choice." There were murmurings in agreement and Caelius nodded slowly. It wasn't unexpected however he had not banked on the strength of opinion that James had voiced. He knew the wizard had spent a good six hours in St. Mungo's the evening before and Caelius made a mental note to himself to take into account James Potter's forceful feeling.

"I propose a tactic of strength, of force against the Conjurists." James's succinct summary on his planned objective for the Reciprocators in the near future was complemented by a look in passing before Caelius's eyes which silently reminded the witches and wizards, on this bright, sunny, pleasant evening that he was as closely involved as anyone with their seriously injured colleagues. "We should support the government in whatever policy it decides," continued James firmly, "and if it is to involve fighting then so be it."

And we should turn ourselves into the military wing of the government thought Caelius dully, carrying out their orders. Realising all eyes were on him he replied: "we have always remained independent of political policy however I believe, should you vote for James's proposal, our strategy of might should reflect this independence."

Around them, murmurs and whispers from the Reciprocators as they discussed the two contrasting approaches. Many, such as the Weasley clan and Bathsheba, Benjamin and Tonks, clustered together, debating in low tones. Arabella Figg took to pacing around Number 12's living room, an act which might be considered eccentric but, knowing Arabella as they all did, was in keeping with her character.

Alastor Moody had taken a few steps into the middle of the circle of chairs, nodding around him and acting as an unofficial overseer of the vote, his arms folded and his bulldog-like features crumpled into a suitable grimace. Caelius watched them all, noting in particular that James had taken a defensive pose, standing as he was with one hand on his hip and the other over the room's large fireplace, Lily talking to him in a hushed voice and placing a comforting hand on his back which every now and then James was shrugging off.

At length the Reciprocators returned to their places on their chairs in the circle and, once all had drifted back, Moody glanced between James an Caelius momentarily before beginning to speak.

"You heard the gentlemen," he growled. "James proposes action to overcome these Conjurists by force. Caelius – " he nodded towards the Reciprocators' leader and thrust out an arm, "feels that we should pursue a more measured approach and calls for our continued autonomy. Now you must vote." Moody surveyed the room, looking at each witch or wizard momentarily in turn. "James?" Hands raised around the circle. Seven, including Arthur and Molly Weasley, Lily, Tonks and Benjamin Wergs." Caelius watched as James Potter's eyes widened; clearly he was waiting for Moody himself to vote for his proposal.

"Seven votes. Caelius?" This time, the votes came slower. Arabella Figg was the first to raise her hand, followed shortly by Bathsheba Braddle. Several others followed suit including, lastly, Alastor Moody himself.

"Ten votes. And, due to absence, five abstentions: Snape, McGonagall, Black, Lupin and Lupin. Caelius," Moody concluded, flinging his arm in Caelius's direction. Then the wizard grunted sharply before stepping firmly back to his place.

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In his bedroom, Septimus read through Sam Potter's letter. He was attempting to prepare himself to go to Hedgewards and was supposed to be sorting out his clothing so he knew what Uncle Kay needed to buy for him before he left. It had been his suggestion. Septimus knew Caelius loved him very much but he also knew his uncle was extremely busy and often overlooked those things that he knew that he needed.

Pangs of sadness had overcome him that morning as he looked around at his sparse possessions. Very few of his real things had come with him when Uncle Kay had brought him from Edgeford to live with him and Remus in his cottage two years before and when he had suggested to his uncle that they could simply go back to Dalton Drive to collect them Caelius had insisted he would now be very much outgrown of many of the items. It was true, of course. But it hadn't it easier to bear the sadness of his fading hope that he could visit his old house, his real house, and see it one last time.

Septimus missed his mum and now that he had decided to actually go to Hedgewards he wished she could be there, with him, choosing things together, packing, discussing things, like they used to. He remembered the times he would sit on his mother's lap listening to stories of science, or rather, of scientists and how they had invented things by hard work and perseverance but also by entire good fortune or, on occasions, sheer stupidity.

So he had written to Sam, asking what things he should take to Hedgewards and the younger Potter brother had written back with a list of books and equipment, quills and parchment, cauldron, robes and so on. He had also included a note about non-wizard items that might be needed which, of course, his uncle and Sam's father were in the process of deciding. It had occurred to Septimus that it might be prudent to include some obvious non-wizard things such as biros and a geometry set but he realised that if he packed up his computer or his favourite books there probably wouldn't be much room for his clothes.

He looked around his room, at the sparkly halo which was the charm that Caelius had put around the house, the one which transported him directly to him if it was crossed. Septimus smiled. Despite his uncle's obvious lack of parenting skills he knew that Caelius cared about him. Uncle Kay had left some books out for him to read, several of which Sam had mentioned in his letter and three of which Septimus knew were written by the headmaster of Hedgewards.

He had met Severus Snape wizard once before, nearly three years ago. It had been the New Year and his mind was thrilled and dazzled with swashbuckling adventure, mystery and heroism. The entre first week of the Christmas holidays he had spent with his nose in one of his Christmas presents and had now read the entire compendium of "Showell Styles' Sea Stories" that his parents had given him. In search of further stories Septimus remembered thinking that the shelves of magical books in Sirius's library may house further adventures, perhaps even ones of the magical persuasion.

So, after his parents had settled down that New Years' Eve afternoon and in the middle of their gossiping with several other Reciprocators, the Potters, his uncle Caelius and Mr. Moody, Septimus had looked up the stairs that led to the first floor. Before long, his legs had followed his eyes and he had found himself in a room lined from floor to ceiling with books.

He had looked along the titles, gleaming gold in the lamplight. Some volumes puffed out coloured smoke while others howled and groaned. Some begged to be removed from shelves with piteous voices. And then Septimus had come across one with Harry Potter in the title. He knew the name, of course. The Potters' elder son, Septimus knew, was called Harry and he had recently celebrated at Grimmauld Place his promotion as Head Auror into the Department of Wizard Security.

Septimus had been about to take the book with him for he had reached out a hand, his fingers closed around the spine with the volume half-off the shelf but then stopped, mid-pull. He didn't so much hear a sound behind him but instead the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped and he had shivered and turned slowly. Before him, motionless, a huge dark figure. The book fell to the floor, perched as it had been between the shelf and Septimus's hand but before he had had a chance to say something, explain, anything, the wizard had taken a step towards him, looming high.

"Did your parents never teach you to – never – take – things – that don't belong to you?" As he addressed Septimus the wizard, who Septimus knew to be Severus Snape from a picture over the main fireplace downstairs, took three more purposeful steps in his direction. He stood over the young Lupin. "But you are curious of course. All children are." Septimus remembered half-closing his eyes, waiting for the reprimand that was surely to follow and this comment had taken him by surprise. He had looked at Snape, uncertain as to what would happen next.

"What were you doing here?" Snape's original ice-searing tone had returned but Septimus had been caught aback by the momentary glimpse of understanding or, perhaps, a negotiable escape route.

"I was being curious, sir," Septimus replied, adding the sir as a form of insurance. Not many people remained hardened when deference was in the offing. "I was wondering if there were any adventure books about wizards? I've finished the one mum and dad bought me for Christmas, you see." A pause had lingered between them as Snape stood over him. His expression had turned to a glower and Septimus had remembered thinking that he would never be naughty for his mum and dad again if only this terrifying wizards would let him go.

"Indeed there are," Snape had replied, a rough growl to his voice and, looking up momentarily, he had scanned the shelves. "However you should wait a few years longer before you can really appreciate them. When you are eleven, perhaps."

Eleven, Septimius had thought as Snape had escorted him back downstairs and into the living room of Grimmauld Place. His mother had pulled him over to one of the sofas when she realised he and Snape were standing at the bottom of the stairs and Mrs Potter had encouraged Sam to talk to the eight-year-old Septimus. Sam was fourteen. Septimus had remembered thinking all the time Sam had shown him his chocolate frog cards, the new set which included famous non-wizard magicians. Sam was old enough to have the book that Snape had talked about. It wasn't fair!

But then, he had told Sam about the books anyway, after they had played a game of Bottom Trumps. Often Septimus had wondered whether the older boy had ever gone up to the library at 12, Grimmauld Place and read the adventure books but he had never thought to have asked Sam. But then, mentioning much about his mother's book and Harry Potter together in the same sentence was quite out of favour, especially at the moment, to say the least.

And now here he was, eleven years old now, with the view of Borrowdale graphite mine in the fore-distance, the sides of which Septimus had often scrambled, playing, exploring, digging…

…rescuing…

Septimus sat down on his bed and looked at the grey-green hill which had been one of the areas he had explored over the last couple of years. Beyond the long since abandoned mine lay his school which he had reluctantly agreed to attend since he had begun to live with his father and Uncle Kay in their family cottage.

He couldn't remember how Julian had got himself into trouble last summer but, after an hour of frantic, futile scrambling up the sheer sides of the inner caldera Septimus had begun to panic, wondering how he would ever be able to get out. Shouting for help had done nothing and he knew that neither his uncle or his father would be at home. He didn't want to leave his best mate down there on his own and, by the look on Julian's little round face, neither did his friend.

How he had got down there was more a matter of luck, scratches and bruises and, with a good deal of effort and a half-attempt at leviocorpus, which had not worked at the quarry edge, had got Julian back up to the top of the quarry. He had then realised that both he and Julian had realised that Septimus getting down there had merely allowed them to switch places. With supreme effort using his limited, untrained, magical skill Septimus had failed completely to help himself and Julian had raced back home to get a rope and leave a message.

It had been Caelius who had got him out in the end, disapparating down with his broomstick and flying both of them back off, quietly and calmly as Julian's mum and dad had taken it in turns to shout at him about how stupid they had both been. It was his Uncle Kay's entirely opposite approach which had struck home with Septimus and he had, when they had got back to the cottage, told his uncle how sorry he was for being silly and also telling him that he wanted to improve his magic.

It was true. When he was stuck down there, wondering how in the world he could get out, Septimus had felt a yearning, deep and strong burning in his heart, to learn more magic. So many people around him were good wizards, great wizards. And they could use their skills to help people. He and Julian wouldn't have been in half so much trouble if he had been better at magic.

And then it struck him, as he thought of their escapade that sunny, August day. Of course! Hedgewards! That was what Severus Snape had meant! When he was eleven he could go to Hedgewards and learn about magic! They would be exciting books to read. Hedgewards would be exciting, full stop, Septimus reasoned. He only had to listen to Sam, when he regaled them all with stories, or half-stories, of things he had done. Now, non-wizards would be going to the school.

He wasn't entirely sure what Caelius meant when he talked about a truly comprehensive system of schooling in Britain but his uncle had explained that it was different to what happened on the Continent where the two magical European schools took only the highest-skilled wizard children.

In the school where his mum worked Septimus knew that his uncle was concerned about the previous headmasters of the school, one of which was Aberforth Dumbledore's brother. Long gone that they were their influence was still strong, Caelius had explained several months ago and Septimus had gone to bed that night thinking about his mother and wishing and wishing, until he had fallen asleep, that his mum was safe. He had been glad that Caelius had got hold of her on the Floo network and they had spoken for a short time and, though the connection was quite bad and he couldn't see her face properly, her warm, comforting tones had made him feel much happier.

Septimus remembered wondering whether he should write to Professor Snape at Hedgewards to ask whether he could arrange for his mum to go back to work at the school, like he knew she had done before. Snape had been headmaster for two years and his parents had discussed with Septimus which High School he would like to attend.

This had caused both his mum and his dad to be annoyed with one another; he could sense the atmosphere when his dad had proclaimed that the only place for him was Hedgewards. His mother had said he wanted him to mix with children of all backgrounds, not just wizards and had told him it was his choice. How he wished he could tell both of his parents that both of their wishes had come true – he could go to Hedgewards to learn magic and be with non-wizard students too, in less than a month's time.

Technically, it had been his sister, Freya, who been the first non-wizard to attend Hedgewards. That she had heard how exciting it was at the school had probably been the reason Freya had done what she had to go there hersef. She had told him about the teachers and the ghosts, the lessons and the staircases that moved, the pictures that talked, and the friends she had made. Septimus had often wondered why mum had been so angry with her for wanting to be there but he knew that Freya had done something awful to Mrs Lupin both at the school and at the Reciprocator Headquarters. Had she been Septimus's age she would have been able to go properly herself this year.

She wasn't really one for learning, seeming to spend a lot of time being tied up in knots about friends and work and her love life, and so on. When he had managed to get her on the Floo network he had overheard part of a conversation between her and Tonks about her boyfriend, Dudley Black, and her hopes and fears for the future, whether Dudley wanted to make a commitment, whether this was just a fling for him or whether he was more serious.

If it had been Septimus and he wanted to know he presumed he would have just asked Dudley but he knew this wasn't how it worked for Freya and he had wondered whether it was because she was a non-wizard or because she was a girl.

Getting to his feet, Septimus looked at the pile of things he had assembled and sighed heavily as his thoughts again turned his parents. How e wanted to find his mother and help his father too. Perhaps if he began to learn some proper magic at last, there might be something he could do.

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Cecilia opened her eyes. Above her a cloudless blue sky filled her view. It had been several hours since the magical sailing ship had left the tiny Norwegian island of Drangen and the intensity of sunshine had increased hour by hour resulting in almost the perfect summer's day, heating up her skin and she felt the beginning of sunburn begin to prickle her skin. Cecilia did nothing. After months, years of being holed up in a stone castle where fires were considered luxury and daylight so limited she didn't care. More than that she relished some colour to her skin, even if it was pinky-red lobster-coloured.

A slight breeze fluttered the mainsail, causing a tautening of the stays. Though crewless the ship operated in exactly the same manner of an eighteenth century warship and operated as such. It had taken a lot to get the information out of Ragnhild Andersson, the closest person to a friend she had at Durmstrang and, as she had stepped aboard she had done just as she had been told: think about her destination and she would be taken there.

Within the day, early evening she estimated, Cecilia would be able to step off the ship and onto the Yorkshire coast. She was fully aware that the Ministry would know she was back in the country and though she didn't trust Caelius she didn't doubt his assertion that she would be imprisoned immediately once they found her.

She had made to weave her magic web of deceit all day and all night at Durmstrang: yes, a curse was on her, all right. But she didn't care. The joy of being able to breathe free air in her own country, fresh, illicit air, stolen, in a fashion would be a tumultuous joy. How liberated would she feel then, setting her foot down on her own turf? Who were the ministry to dictate?

But then, deep down Cecilia knew that she couldn't be both the whistle-blower for the veil's existence in the Department of Mysteries, a secret that even the Reciprocators, those people she had known for countless years, doubted her word about, and be wandering around like, for want of a better phrase (as she looked down to the large grey guns) a loose cannon. If people she had known for such a long time could abandon her so readily what about a worldful strangers? Especially when the Ministry had so much political influence that she could be branded a dangerous idiot?

She would be able to talk to Remus, though. His gemmy bridle glittered so bright in her mind; the memory that had been their reunion, when he had come to her at Durmstrang when she had been at her lowest, and they had made their peace and promised to be each others' other for the rest oft their lives. Whatever he wanted her to do, for the sake of their marriage she would do. No arguments. No conditions. Cecilia wanted her family back and she was going home for that reason alone.

Perhaps she shouldn't have burned her research notes that night. It had been the gesture that she knew would be the most symbolic to her and Remus's future. Her genetic connections and assertions to commonality between all people may well have informed Snape's medicinal research or Aberforth's investigations into other worlds, as Remus had gently explained. Cecilia had explained that it had been that such research which had robbed her of years of time away from him and especially Septimus and, the sooner it had gone the better for everyone.

She recalled how misguided she had felt, as if that night a sheet had been pulled down which revealed her stupidity, stupidity in trusting the government and not her instincts. Had she a choice Cecilia would have been at home caring for Septimus and Freya. Cecilia was responsible for them both and no-one could doubt her commitment to the welfare and upbringing of both her son and her adopted daughter although she might have been prepared to admit that her mothering approach was slightly on the heavy-handed side, entirely the wrong approach, she now realised, for the volatile Freya.

All that was about to change. Under the blazing sun Cecilia recalled how the flames had licked around the pages of her research diary volumes, her last memory before, post-coitially, both Cecilia and her Lancelot, Remus, dozed in her room at Durmstrang. By the morning, nothing but ash remained and. Phoenix-like, her spirit, her life, had been restored. For too long, it had ruled her. But now, Remus's "tirra-lirra" had brought her to her senses and she had left the loom. Had she a mirror in her room, it may well have crack'd from side to side as she looked down upon her Camelot.

Camelot, or rather, Scarborough, would be within her sight at the end of the day. Would it be a curse, as it had been for the Lady of Shallot? Cecilia had indeed loosed the ship's anchor and now here she was, lying down flat on its deck as the sky above spread out and ships, boats, cruise-liners, vessels of all shapes and sizes, instinctively avoided the magic-shaped zone which was the ship's hull encompassed, whizzing past her at speed. What would her fate be at the water-side?