Chapter 10:

A/N: Sorry for the wait; my computer's been in the shop. Song lyric credits go to Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein. Also, thanks to Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz for the inspiration behind the code name Operation Arctic Tern.

"You'll write more than once a month from now on, won't you?" Mom's voice was half-teasing, but Finola caught anxiety there. She embraced her.

"Sure I will."

Dad cupped her face in his hands. "We're proud of you, kiddo. Keep doing what you're doing, and know we're always rooting for you."

"Okay, Dad."

"Monica? Severus?" Mom turned to them. "I don't understand half of what goes on around here. If our church knew about…they might hurt our girl, even without meaning to. I guess life's not always safe, witch or Muggle. But…" She trailed off. It was the first time Finola had seen her mom at a loss.

Professor Swanson nodded. "I raised two sisters, Sarah. I—we—will take care of her."

"Of course." Mom, then Dad, drew Finola to them in crushing hugs. "See you at Christmas, honey," Dad said. "We'll even try for Thanksgiving."

Finola blinked a few times and forced out a laugh. "That's okay. I hate turkey, anyway."

"Ah, but nobody makes pecan pie like your old mom, huh?" Mom teased. "It'll fly by. I love you so much."

A quick, flurried round of embraces, kisses, and "I love yous" later, Finola cleared her throat. "I should uh, get back to the dorms. Homework. And Professors?" She smiled. "I'm not going to tell anyone about the Sanguis Parentis, or…the other thing. Please, treat me as you always have."

"Or better." Snape's voice held a promise. "I applaud your maturity, Miss Frost."

"Ah, wise beyond her years," Dumbledore complimented. "The true mark of a raven. Miss Frost, now seems as good a time as any to tell you—I expect you back in your own house within forty-eight hours."

"Yes, sir. But…Thalia Harrington, the others, are they…"

"They have received hearings. Lucretia Primminger, as the eldest of the perpetrators and one who should know better, has been expelled for one year pending community service to the school and Hogsmeade. The others have, or will, return to campus, but you will be under strict protection. For instance, you will only ever interact with Thalia Harrington, and only in the capacity of determining who takes the last Gifted spot."

Alarms pealed in Finola's head, but she didn't dare contradict the Headmaster after everything he'd done for her—everything the school had done. She gave him her Sunday school smile. "Okay. Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome, Miss Frost. Now, I see it's nearly curfew. Professor Snape, suppose I escort your student back to Slytherin House for the night? That way you and Professor Swanson can hash out any questions and concerns you have, and speak with me tomorrow."

"Of course, Headmaster. That's a fine idea."

Finola walked out of Dumbledore's office with the distinct impression she and her professor were both lying.

Corridor

"Oh, my. Slow down, dear—let an old man catch up. You've certainly learned your way around Hogwarts these days—hardly even need an escort."

Finola slowed down a bit. "Thanks, but Professor Swanson said she liked the idea, at least until Christmas, since the routes and staircases change so much and all."

"Indeed. Smart lady, that Monica—eh, Professor Swanson. Now, do tell me, dear…" Dumbledore gestured to the small bag of books Finola carried over her arm, gifts from Mom and Dad since her favorite authors weren't readily available in the Wizarding World. "Which of those lovely authors is your favorite?"

An amiable conversation about books ensued, until they were halfway down to the dungeons. Suddenly, Dumbledore almost yanked Finola into an alcove.

"Ouch! What…" Finola glanced around for signs of the creature from the other night, or another adversary. Dumbledore's face went shadowed in the evening candlelight. Just like on the first day, it went from grandfatherly to granite in five seconds flat.

"I'm over a hundred and sixty, my girl, and I've survived two wars," he hissed. "Your politeness and talk of a merciful Creator don't fool me."

"I…what?"

"Snape was right about you the first time. I don't know how, but I'd lay odds you somehow engineered those pranks and confrontations yourself."

"No! Why would I…"

"Hush!" Dumbledore squeezed her arm, hard. "I warn you now, Finola Frost. Hogwarts is my home, and I've been far too foolish in the past, letting "special" students and professors who know too much try to destroy it. You may be Gifted, but if you use that gift the wrong way, even Severus and Monica can't protect you."

"Sir, I don't understand. I'd never…"

He shoved her shoulders back so she was pinned against stone. "Do you know what Tartanox is?"

"N-no."

"It is a relatively new place in our world. Something of a—criminalized mental institution." Dumbledore's lips tipped in a smirk. "Somewhere they send nosy, self-righteous little witches who don't know their place. The last haven of Dementors, where even they fear to tread. Keep that in mind, and know I expect to be obeyed above all others." He twisted the arm he still held. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I…yes, sir."

"Lovely." Dumbledore raised his wand. "Obliviate!"

Finola found herself alone at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, holding a couple of shopping bags. Dumbledore must have had to rush back to the office. And…oooh. She rubbed her arm. Those bags must be heavier than she thought.

"Password?" Salazar demanded.

"Asphodel," Finola replied.

"Enter."

Dumbledore's Office

"So, let us know if you have any questions," Judge Eliot Frost told Severus and Swanson. "Finola's my own daughter and she still confuses me sometimes."

"Amen to that." Sarah gave a teary laugh. "She's eleven going on forty—but still a kid. I hope she has time here to enjoy being that."

"I think we can guarantee it," Swanson said. "While we have your ear, though, there's something I wanted to bring up. With Finola's enemies coming back to campus…" Her face twisted like she was sucking a lemon. "We can and will protect her, but…"

"She needs to stand up for herself," Severus finished. "The trouble is, she isn't good at it, unless of course we're talking about me and my propensity to make her friends shake in their oversized first-year robes. Even then, she's somehow gotten the idea that I, as a teacher—that all teachers—are untouchable because they've been imbued with some sort of divine authority." He gave the Frosts his best glacial glare, daring them to deny they'd used Scripture to make their daughter fall in line.

But Judge Frost was as savvy a Muggle as they came. "I know that look, Snape, and before you go further, let me clear up some things. We're not rabid fundamentalists. We've made mistakes—trying to suppress Finola's magic is one. And she's had some experiences with public school teachers and principals that…well, it got ugly. Her worst teacher knew she was a Christian and used the submission argument against her." He passed a hand over his eyes. "We took Fin to counseling, but—in a lot of ways, she hasn't gotten up from it."

"What is this woman's name?" Severus demanded. "If what you say is true, she needs to be held accountable."

"Threefold law sounds too good for the wretch," Swanson added.

"We agree," Sarah Frost said. "But you need to understand—Fin has the gift of mercy. She can't stand to see anyone hurt, even if they deserve it. I've seen her run and hide in a guest bedroom when one of her cousins got spanked. The day Eliot and I confronted that excuse for a teacher, Finola stayed home from school. She was literally sick with worry and guilt."

Severus bit down on a swear word. "That's not good. Mr. and Mrs. Frost, let me level with you. Finola may see and hear things at this school that will push her to her limit. She can't fall apart every time someone is called names, or knocked down in a duel, or Merlin forbid, tortured. She's got to get some fire in her—learn that the bully may be God's creation but blast it, sometimes they made their bed and must lie in it. I can and will push her as hard as I dare, but with this bloody Quid Pro Quo Law in effect…"

"How do we get her angry," Swanson finished, "without crossing into abusive territory? Eliot, Sarah, you know her best. What makes her honest-to-goodness, get-out-of-my-way, I'll-slap-you-to-Hogsmeade-and-dare-you-to-walk-back mad?"

The parents laughed, and Severus couldn't help guffawing himself. Monica had such an easy, down-to-earth way of making her point and yet keeping things congenial, meaning business and yet never losing her approachable demeanor. Not even Lily could do that. She was more like Finola Frost—gentle to a fault unless complete decimation was in the picture. How does Swanson do it? And for Merlin's sake, why can't I quit calling her Monica?

Judge Frost tapped his fingers against his chair arm. "I remember when Finola was reading the books about your world for the first time. Sarah and I were afraid Voldemort would upset her, but he didn't. Even you, Severus—we always talked about the books together. I remember her saying, 'If Snape was the one protecting Harry from Quirrell, then he must have some good in him.' Umbridge, though…that Umbridge woman gave her nightmares. Flashbacks. We skipped a lot of Order of the Phoenix." Judge Frost shook his head. "But Umbridge also made Finola angry. Her counselor used the fictional character as an outlet for Fin to work through her real experiences."

Monica—Swanson, for Merlin's sake!—nodded. "We can use that, with your permission. If Finola can't handle actually seeing Umbridge—or a representation of her—maybe just audio will do it."

Mrs. Frost hummed in agreement. "Finola also gets angry if you imply she can't do something. Some things, she knows are dangerous for her, like climbing trees, or certain sports. But I've used reverse psychology before. Say she's slaving over math problems, calling herself every kind of stupid. I say, 'You're right, you just can't do this.' Boom—she gives me the evil eye and throws herself into the task." She turned to Severus. "Your class seems like it's the hardest one for Finola. Maybe if you implied that you would fix her grade, make things a little too easy. Or if, during a tutoring session, you acted so nice that she knew you were being phony."

"I'd pay my last Galleon to see that one," Swanson laughed.

"I'll thank you to manufacture hilarity at someone else's expense," Severus shot back. Yet he couldn't help smiling. He stood and shook the Frosts' hands. "You have my word. Finola may never think I'm Teacher of the Year material, but she will be all right. For one, we're cutting the tutoring sessions back significantly. For another, Swanson and I will continue working up ideas to make her a more confident and secure girl."

Slytherin Girls' Dorm, Night

"Where is it? Give it to me!"

Finola stirred, then woke, unsure if the vapory yet threatening voice was real or a dream. Heat pulsated through the room, making her throw back her covers despite the autumn chill. The windows rattled, and an eerie hiss surrounded her. She got up, tried to pinpoint the source, but the hiss seemingly emanated from all four walls at once.

"Come now…be a good girl…" Though coaxing, the words shot adrenaline clear to Finola's toes. The windows rattled again, and she dared step to the pane. A moment later, she stumbled, almost knocked off her feet. Sweeping toward the window was a bright scarlet creature, something that resembled a ghost. Yet instead of features, this had a gaping black hole for a mouth and empty eye sockets.

Finola froze, caught in indecision. Did she have time to grab her wand? Her eyes darted to the emergency bell in the corner. If she rang, could Professor Snape get here in time, or would the thing disappear? Frantic, disjointed prayers swirled in her head.

"No! Oh, no…no, I didn't mean it!" Anya's cry snagged Finola's attention. At the same moment, the hateful scarlet thing disappeared. Hissing and heat gave way to silence and chill. Meanwhile, Anya moaned and thrashed in her bed.

"Anya." Finola tiptoe-ran to her friend's side and shook her gently. "Anya, wake up."

"What?" Anya startled, then let out a forceful exhale. "Oooohhhhh…."

"It's okay. You were having a nightmare."

"Did I wake you?"

"I'm glad you did." Mentioning the creature would probably make Anya worse. Finola motioned in the direction of the water carafe, kept in every Slytherin dorm for students who got thirsty or needed comfort in the night. "Do you want some water?"

"No."

"Should I get Elinor? Snape?"

"No. P-please, just stay with me." Anya shuddered, and Finola straightened her bedclothes as best she could. Afterward, she scooted onto Anya's bed and held her hand. The girls sat in silence for several minutes until Anya whispered,

"Is it past midnight? What day is it?"

"Um, October tenth, why?"

Another ragged exhale. "Then I still have time."

"Time? Anya, what is it? You can tell me."

"No. No, I can never tell anyone. You would hate me if you knew. Brenna, Lily, they all would. I would be expelled."

"I…don't know about that. But I could never hate you. Please talk to me. At least tell me about the nightmare. My mom always says that helps."

Anya drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. After a few more minutes, she began. "My father is Russian-Romanian. My mother is English. Both sets of parents were Death Eaters. For a long time, Papa was an active Death Eater, too. That's—where I heard…that's why I called you a mudblood."

Finola nodded. "You said 'was.' So your dad and grandparents switched sides?"

"No, it's more complicated, and it goes further back. Anya raised her wand. "Muffilatio." When Finola opened her mouth, Anya gestured to the door. "That'll keep the conversation private. At Hogwarts, they're serious when they say the walls have ears."

"Right. Go on."

"No one knows about this, not even Professor Snape," Anya began. "I asked my parents' permission to tell my Head of House, whoever it was, but they felt it wasn't worth the risk." She drew in a breath. "I'm cursed."

"Cursed how?"

"It started a long time ago. The Glazkovs have been extremely wealthy and powerful for centuries. We make the Malfoys look like beggars. Unfortunately, my great-great-grandfather lost his wife, his true love, in a…witch burning. He turned to Darkness in revenge, and so went the descendants. We aren't only wizards. Do you know Dracula? The Hound of the Baskervilles?"

"Yeah…that last one is one of my favorite mysteries. Wait. Are you saying…"

"Yes. Glazkovs are adept at covering their tracks, and their legendary evil has spread for years. Had it not been for an aunt of mine falling for a Narnian mage, a follower of Aslan…"

Finola's mouth dropped open. "No. No freaking way! That happens?"

Anya giggled. "You'd be amazed what a witch on the run, an open portal, and a passionate romance can lead to. Anyway, Aunt Svetlana converted. She and my Uncle Gabe had to elope, but they were eventually, grudgingly accepted. My parents were the first to accept them back, and I've always been close to them. But by the time I was a little girl, we'd had to leave the Carpathian Mountains, and Voldemort was in power."

"Papa had given up the Dark Arts, but to protect me and Mama, he followed in Professor Snape's footsteps. He became a double agent. Professor Snape won't tell me, but I have a feeling they worked together. Papa's a Potions and Herbology master, and I happen to know he's spent plenty of time inventing new antivenins."

"How cool is that?" Finola breathed.

"Pretty wicked," Anya admitted. "But as you know, you can't lie to the Dark Lord. Papa thought he got away with it, but Death Eaters showed up to our house one night. Papa hid Mama and I in a Vanishing Cabinet, but the spell didn't work. They found us. They were going to kill us, but Voldemort chose to let Papa suffer. He used me. He…placed a curse on me."

"What sort of curse?"

"A time-released one. In my eleventh year, in the tenth month, on the twenty-first day or thereafter…I could become a werewolf."

"Anya! Wait, no, that's not possible. You have to be bitten first."

"Not this time. Voldemort not only cursed me, but our entire family. Mama—she turns half basilisk every summer, when the air is wetter than the rains. Papa, he has an insatiable taste for blood that strikes when hunting of the stag begins. And my…" Anya gulped. "I have two little cousins. Twins, a boy and a girl. One has the lycanthropy curse. The other—when her menses come, she'll develop an insatiable taste for blood, like Papa."

Finola sat, dumbstruck, for several moments. She prayed for a prompting, but the only thing she could think to do was embrace her friend. "Anya, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Anya sobbed against Finola's shoulder. "It could happen any moment, any night. Mama and Papa held off, but they had to—register me. I can't sleep with the other girls in the dormitory. The last full moon, I locked myself in my room, pleading God would spare me. He answered, but what about next time? Dumbledore knows, and I've heard him talking with Filch. That awful bilge-water rat wants me chained in the dungeon."

Finola held Anya tighter. "I won't let that happen. He'll go through me first."

"Finola, take this the right way, but how could you stop him?"

"I don't get straight O's in Lupin's class for nothing. I'd hex Filch and spend the rest of the term in detention if I had to. Speaking of, why can't you tell Lupin? He knows all about lycanthropy. He and his family would protect you."

"No." Anya clutched her necklace. "I can't go to Lupin because of his family. He has a little one."

"Snape, then. We'll talk to him. He'll get you some wolfsbane potion, he'll find a place you can go…"

Anya shook her head, hard. "The curse was specific. Not only did I not have to be bitten, but wolfsbane won't work. Once I turn for the first time, it's uncontrollable." She sobbed again. "I can't stand it. I would look at you or Brenna and Lily and see…"

"Meat." Finola mouthed the hateful word. "Still, there's gotta be something. Is there anything that can be done to hold off the first transformation?"

Anya closed her eyes briefly. "Wolfsbane might hold it off for a while. I might only get slight symptoms. Long nails, increased meat cravings, that sort of thing. But if I approach Snape and ask for any…you know how he feels about Lupin, about—creatures."

"Yeah, but he only feels that way because Lupin was good buddies with the guy who bullied him," Finola pointed out. "You're different. You're a Slytherin, and Slytherins protect their own. We could ask before anyone else got up and overheard. I'd come with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Better to ask and get a potential ally now, than end up at Dumbledore's mercy." A foggy memory overtook Finola's brain. "I don't know why, but something tells me our headmaster is a phony. At least you know where you stand with Snape."

"I'll think on it," Anya promised. "But for now, when I close my eyes, all I see is Voldemort cursing us all." She shuddered. "I wish Mama were here. She always knew what to do when—when I thought about it. She would offer warm milk or sing to me."

"Sing, huh? Then you came to the right place." Finola grabbed the inspiration and held on tight. She gestured for Anya to lie back and began a song that always calmed her spirit, sotto voce.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens…

Brown paper packages tied up with strings…

These are a few of my favorite things…"

Yet Finola guessed they'd need far more than kittens or packages to deal with what was coming.

Snape's Office, Morning

"You ought to have come to me sooner, Glazkov. You could have endangered the entire school. You have shown cowardice and rebellion unworthy of a Slytherin. What's worse, you dragged a vulnerable friend into it. However, what is the Muggle expression—better late than never? Humph. I'll be hanged before I see a student in chains. Glazkov, you may share Lupin's potion supply. I will advise him of the situation, and we will work on an appropriate sanctuary for a transforming female student. Also, fifty points from Slytherin for maintaining a potentially dangerous cover-up."

Anya hung her head. "Yes, Professor."

"But I will give you twenty-five of those back," Snape said, "if, and only if, you brew a perfect potion in class today. You are dismissed."

Finola stood to leave too, but Snape waved her down. "Frost, stay behind."

"Yes, Professor?"

Snape half-smiled at her. "Twenty points to Ravenclaw. Ten for showing compassion to a friend, and encouraging her to seek help from an adult. And ten for acquitting yourself well as a guest in another House. This past week, you have shown diligence, accepted assistance, and obeyed my authority even though I'm not your Head of House. Most first-years would not do such, for any House or teacher."

"Thank you, Professor. For everything. If there's anything I can do…"

"Simply maintain what you have learned here. Eat and sleep properly. Ask for assistance when needed and expect the compassion you offer others. And don't be afraid to use cunning, ambition, and a little cutthroat cleverness. It's not ungodly or immoral if you're doing it for the right reasons."

Finola sighed. "You're talking about Thalia Harrington and her crowd. I wish I could stand up to them. Everyone acts like it should be so easy, and maybe it should, but what they've done goes beyond name-calling and backstabbing. I've got the feeling if they wanted, they could really hurt me."

Snape didn't answer at first. His eyes went cold and hard, his face blank. He stared into space as though his mind were miles away. Finally, he stood. "Frost, Professor Lupin won't be available for your DADA instruction this afternoon. It's a full moon. However, Swanson and I have agreed to trade off substituting. I'm on duty today and I warn you now. Without being abusive, I can be quite the bad cop. I suggest you steel yourself, and get as much rest as you can during your free period. You're going to need it."

"Um…yes, sir."

"And one more thing. Did you or Miss Glazkov have any other interesting adventures last night? Perhaps a frightening visitor?"

Finola's jaw dropped. "How—did you read my mind?"

"Give me some credit, Frost. I've been teaching since you were barely a twinkle in your parents' eyes. I don't need Legillimency to guess everything."

Finola nodded. Note to self. If this guy is supposed to be your de facto dad, never lie to him, or even think about it. She explained about the scarlet creature. "It was like the night we delivered Professor Lupin's Wolfsbane," she finished, "except there was a voice."

Snape paced the room, forehead a snarl of deep lines. "What sort of voice? Male, female?"

"Kind of—vapory. Like the Grey Lady, only more—solid. I couldn't tell what gender. It sounded kind of like those voice distortion devices, the kind you'd use if you wanted to call someone and not have them recognize you. My dad gets distorted calls entered into evidence all the time."

Snape nodded. "And what did it say?"

Finola repeated the creature's dialogue. "It sounded kind, but threatening at the same time."

Snape's face went crimson. He cursed and knocked a pile of books and papers from the desk before turning. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said in an almost conciliatory tone. "I simply cannot believe…Dumbledore, that doddering old…I told him…"

"Sir?"

Snape plopped into his desk chair—or as close to plopping as a dignified professor got, anyway. His cane smacked the walnut desk and fell in front of Finola, its serpent head gleaming and seemingly smirking at her. "What you encountered," her professor began, "is an Umbra. They are creatures at the disposal of our new enemy, the Oculus Vermiculo."

"Umbra—Latin for shadow?" Finola asked. "And Oculus—monocle, binocular—eye."

"Someone's been studying her Latin." Snape's lips quirked up. "Yes on both counts. The English translation for our enemy organization is Crimson Eye."

"But what does an Umbra do, exactly? And what was it—what are they—after that they think I have?" A memory shot through her brain. "That vial, the one you put the Wolfsbane in."

Snape sighed. "You're a little too smart for your own good, Frost. You're right about the vial. But here is your next lesson as a Gifted witch. You can't expect your mentors to feed you information. If you're really hungry, feed yourself—and don't bite off more than you can chew."

"In other words, go researching, but don't dig too deep?"

"Right again. Take another ten points for Ravenclaw."

Library, Morning Break

"An Umbra?" Brenna shuddered. "I've heard of those. They're related to the Irish banshee, and they're bad news."

"Do Umbras foretell death?" Lily asked, paging frantically through a tome on The Undead, Their Ways, and Their Rights.

"Don't know. But it's said they mark their victims for hell. Not that I believe it for a minute," Brenna added. "If Finola's not going to Heaven, there's no hope for the rest of us."

"I second that," Anya spoke up.

Finola gave her Slytherin friend a joking elbow in the ribs. "Shut up. I'm no more worthy of Heaven than anyone else…but whatever an Umbra is, I bet it's straight from Satan." She flipped her own book to the index. "Ah, here we go. Umbra…see "Wraith," see "Banshee"…okay. Hmmm. Shoot. Just basic paragraphs of what we already knew."

"I've got something," Lily announced a little later. "It's not much, but it's new. 'The Umbra feeds on heat, particularly the body heat of victims. It traces location through body heat, sloughing skin cells, and undetectable human scent, using these to mark victims, similar in fashion to a wraith. Marked victims fall seriously ill in a matter of hours or days.'"

Finola shuddered. "Creepy. Does it say anything else?"

"Just that no such creature has been seen since around 1692."

"The Salem Witch Trials," Finola guessed. "So they aren't native to the U.K.?"

"No," Lily confirmed. "It says here they can be found anywhere but are primarily—oh." She gave Finola a worried look. "Umbras are primarily American. People use the ancient Latin name, or sometimes they call them the Red Death."

"So you're saying…" Finola gulped. "That thing followed me here? No, couldn't be. I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Not if your magic was suppressed." Lily pointed to a couple sentences in another book. "Umbras only seek out people with magic."

"That's just great," Finola said. "An Umbra must've come after Snape and me that night. But he acted like he knew what it was and what it wanted. So that means…" Nausea twisted her stomach. "Could he have known the whole time? Lured me into…and then protected himself…" She couldn't speak anymore. "Dear Lord. I have been so stupid. He switched sides once, why not again?"

"You don't know that," Anya comforted. "Think of Harry Potter. If Snape were covering his motives, he'd want you to stay away, treat him as an enemy. He's been doing the opposite."

"Unless it's a case of 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,'" Brenna pointed out. "Unless, Fin, did Snape ever spend time in America? Was he hot for your mum?"

"Gross!" Finola exclaimed, earning a warning "shush" from Madame Pince. "No way," she said more quietly. "But if I'm wrong about Snape…that's too awful even to imagine. If I'm wrong—I'm just a kid. I barely know how to use magic, and he's this super-wizard who can read minds. He could legitimately, literally kill me."

"He probably would've done it already," Brenna pointed out. "We need to be sure, though. We've got to figure out who he's working for, what they know, and how they're gonna use it. And we need more information on the Umbras and Crimson Eye."

"You mean, spy on the toughest teacher in school? Bren, that's impossible," Lily challenged. "Snape knows where everyone is, everywhere, every minute."

"Not if we stay a step ahead," Brenna said. "Snape's not omnipotent."

"But to pull that off, we'd need—" Finola trailed off. "Of course!"

"The Marauder's Map," all four girls whispered.

"Brilliant!" Anya exclaimed. "If we had the Map, we could get all the information we needed, from anywhere."

"I'm sure I could track it down," Lily volunteered. "Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders."

"And it would be easy for me to spy on Snape, since I'm in Slytherin," Anya put in. "Or I could distract him—pepper him with Potions questions." She giggled. "Once you get him talking about ancient vs. modern medicinal compounds, he never shuts up."

"Good plan," Brenna agreed. "Finola, you're the bookworm. Still up for a jaunt into the Restricted Section?"

Finola thought it over. "My heart says sure, but my head—it's so risky, Bren. All of this. We could all get in major trouble. Besides, you know me. I can't lie. If Snape, or Swanson, or anyone, suspects and asks me, I'd have to tell the truth. I give myself away too easily."

"Then don't lie," Brenna suggested. "Ask Swanson for a note. She'll be a lot easier than Snape, and she's your real Head of House. If she says no, ask Madame Pince."

"Straight out?"

"Why not? She actually likes you. Who keeps giving you book recommendations, huh?" Brenna gave Finola a light punch in the arm. "I bet she says yes. And, I bet if you were real nice, she wouldn't have to say anything. She'd just look the other way."

"Even if she did, there's still the spiritual implication," Finola cautioned.

"What do you mean?" Lily gave her a compassionate look. "Finola, we're all Christians here. We know you don't lose salvation for breaking school rules—at least, I think we all know." Her look turned searching. "Is that what you're scared of?"

"No. If that were true, there'd be no hope for anyone," Finola said. "But—it's complicated." She massaged her temples.

"Think of it like this," Brenna began. "It's against God, what these people are doing, whoever they are. If Snape's with them, we owe it to Hogwarts to beat him at his own game. If he's not, we've got a powerful ally. And either way, we've got the information we need. If we wait for the teachers to spill, it may be too late."

Finola absorbed this. "All right. I'll do it. But not by myself."

"Of course not," Brenna said. "We'll team up. Lily, once you find the Map, keep it on you. No one's going to suspect an innocent, straight-O Hufflepuff. Take it with you if you and Finola have to go to the Restricted Section. That way, you can get out of danger fast if you have to. Meanwhile, Anya and I are on Snape Patrol."

"How does that work?" Anya asked.

"You're the inside track. Learn whatever you don't know of Snape's schedule. If he's in-house, you snoop. If not, I'll snoop. We may be able to meet up after Potions and search the classroom."

"Gosh, it all sounds so adventurous," Lily commented.

"Wicked," Brenna added.

"We could get killed. Or worse, expelled," Finola warned.

Anya shivered, but smiled. "I'm sure we'll be fine. We all have clean records. Besides, who would suspect anyone who's friends with Finola Frost, Hogwarts' own angel?"

"Okay, just for that, I am so in," Finola said. "Operation Arctic Tern is a go."

"Operation what?" asked Anya.

"Operation Arctic Tern. When the characters on one of my favorite shows go on missions, they use operation code names. Arctic Tern—because Umbras respond to heat, so we have to freeze their agenda. And because we'll have to fly like crazy to keep from getting caught."

"Frost, you're bloody brilliant," Lily complimented. "But if we're going to do this, we do it right. We need a good name. Like—the Marauderesses?"

"That's a mouthful," Anya said. "The Hogwarts Queens?"

Finola shook her head. "Reminds me too much of what Muggles call mean girls—queen bees."

"Good point," Anya agreed. "Perhaps an anagram." She pointed to herself. "A…" She pointed to the others. "L, F, B—ugh. That spells FLAB."

"The Fabulous Four?" Brenna offered, then frowned. "How corny."

"Wait," Finola took out her Dicta-Quill. "Let's go back to the anagram thing. Anya, what's your middle name?"

"Demetria."

"Mine's Odessa," Lily said.

"Elizabeth," Brenna finished.

"I'm Jane—no, that doesn't fit. Hmmm. F, A, B, L, E, O…what if we added our House initials?" Finola wrote R, G, H, and S under her previous work.

"Fabraleos…ugh. Try Heads of House, last initials," Brenna suggested.

"Okay." Finola added S, S, L, M on another line. "Let's see…" She wrote a few nonsense combinations, crossed them out, and started again. The other girls did the same, until Lily jumped from her chair. "I've got it!"

"SHHHHH!" Madame Pince exclaimed.

"Sorry! I mean, sorry." Lily leaned forward and wrote with a flourish. "We are the Formidables!"