A/N: I have a whole long list of excuses as to why I haven't been posting more frequently, for Reign or for my other stories, but you don't want to hear those so instead I'll just give you the next chapter. This time we've got a letter from an angry Gran, a run-in with a Boggart, a fun new character, and Harry's first War Game. Hope you like it, and if you don't, tell me why not!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Chapter 9: Word Games and War Games

Breakfast in the Great Hall was, as usual, a noisy affair. Cutlery banged on plates, shrill voices called out between tables, and dozens of owls swooped to and fro delivering the morning's letters.

Harry was particularly excited because of what the weekend would bring: his team's first match. That Saturday he would lead his teammates into battle against Cedric Diggory and his Niffler Squad. Diggory had already suffered one loss, from the Sphinx Squad led by Cho Chang. But it had been a close match, and Harry could tell that even though there were many rookies on Diggory's squad, they were united under his strong leadership.

Harry's squad was not quite as united as Diggory's. Hermione continued to scoff at Harry's efforts to act like a captain, even though she didn't openly disregard his orders during practice. She fought her hardest, but it was obvious she didn't respect him; even worse, it was clear that Dean and Justin would only listen to Harry as long as Hermione did. Dean might make fun of Hermione more than anyone else, but he was devoted to her nonetheless.

This wasn't quite what Harry had imagined command would be, but he remembered his father's maxim that leadership was earned, not inherited or given. He had to prove to Hermione that he was a captain worth following, and that probably wouldn't happen until they won a match or two.

Still, the team was starting to improve, at least in terms of their combat magic. They even had a name now. They had decided to become Thestral Squad, adopting the name of a magical beast that Harry hadn't even heard about until Hermione told him.

"Thestrals are flying horses, invisible to anyone who hasn't seen death," she had said, radiating a cold determination that Harry was glad to see. "And that's how we'll fight. They won't see us until they're already beaten… and they'll fear us ever after."

Dean still voted for Hinkypunk Squad, but everyone else voted with Hermione. With a new name and a tenuous promise of cooperation, Harry's team was as ready for their first fight as he could reasonably expect.

Neville and Justin still struggled with the Shield Charm, and Neville didn't have Stupefy mastered yet, but everyone else knew those most basic of attack and defense spells. Everyone could reliably cast the Disarming Charm, which was one of the first spells Flitwick had taught them in Charms class. Harry knew that their repertoire of spells would be laughably small compared to those of veterans like Cedric, but they had a good grasp on the basics. Superior tactics and teamwork would have to make up for the difference in experience.

Harry tried not to get too excited; it was only Monday after all, and he had an entire week to go before stepping onto the pitch. Homework and classes – and even Halloween, which was on Friday – might seem trivial compared to the War Games, but if Harry slacked off he'd be disqualified.

That was never going to happen, even if he had to stoop so low as to ask Hermione for help. So far his pride had kept him from that extreme, but if his schoolwork ever suffered so much that his eligibility were in question, he would go to Hermione without a second thought. No indignity was too great if it meant staying in the War Games.

Let's just hope it never comes to that.

Harry turned back to his friends. Ron and Neville were in the middle of a pancake-eating contest, though Ron seemed to have a significant lead. Growing up in a household with seven children had instilled in him many lessons, not least of which was the necessity to eat as quickly as possible. Though outmatched, Neville fought gamely as well, and Harry had to laugh at the determined expression on his friend's face as the Longbottom heir crammed another bite into his already-full mouth.

Just then a magnificent tawny owl swooped above the trio, releasing a bright scarlet letter. It landed on Neville's head, startling him into expelling pancake particles all over the table. Ron pounded him unhelpfully on the back as Neville coughed.

"Don't worry, Neville, we can't all be champions. No need to kill yourself trying to keep up."

But Neville was no longer paying attention to Ron's self-congratulatory condolences. His attention was riveted on the letter, red as fresh blood and stamped with a raised wax seal. The letter shivered like a wet dog, then flew into the air in front of Neville.

"Oh no," Ron blanched, "Nev, I think you've got a Howl-"

The envelope burst open with a tremendous boom. A cultured and very disapproving voice proceeded to speak at a volume that brought the entire morning tumult in the Great Hall to a standstill.

"Neville Longbottom," the voice began, "I am most disappointed in you! I should have thought that you, knowing your reputation and the honor of our House, would not jeopardize either by associating with those whose condition in life is so decidedly below our own. I will say no more on that front; you know of whom I speak. If you do not cease your interactions with such rabble, I will be forced to take more drastic action. Cordially yours, Augusta Longbottom."

The letter shriveled to nothing before their eyes, leaving an awed silence that hung heavily in the Great Hall.

"Well," drawled a smug, familiar voice. "It seems like someone remembers the honor of a High House. You'd do well to listen to your Gran, Longbottom."

Neville flushed an angry red. "Sit on it, Malfoy!" he spat without so much as a hint of a stammer. Malfoy merely chuckled.

The phrase "such rabble" rang in Harry's ears. His fingers curled into fists, which pressed into his thighs hard enough to form bruises.

Calm down, the rational part of him urged. It's not like you haven't heard that before. A laughingstock. An embarrassment. Son of a Mudblood whore. Just let it roll off – they'll eat their words later.

But even though Harry knew his rational self was right, that didn't do much to cool his anger… or his shame. Hearing such scathing words from Neville's grandmother – and there was no doubt in Harry's mind that she had been talking about him – was somehow infinitely worse than hearing it from strangers in the street.

"Easy, Harry," Ron whispered, nudging him with one knee.

"Easy for you to say," he forced out through gritted teeth.

"She probably meant me too," Ron pointed out, tightening his hold on Harry's shoulder. "She thinks my dad is a crackpot who ought to be ejected from the Pureblood Council. Augusta Longbottom's a hard-nosed conservative, and it's not just you she objects to. I doubt you could find five people she does approve of, anywhere! Dad says the only real friend she has on the Council is Madam Bones, and it's a sure bet that Neville will be betrothed to her niece Susan before he graduates."

That tidbit was sufficient to jolt Harry out of his spiral of self-pity and frustration. "Really?" he said with an involuntary snort. His hands relaxed, his fingers uncurled. "Susan Bones? The first-year Serpent who's always trying to answer questions before Hermione?"

Ron grinned back, relieved that Harry seemed to have calmed down. "That's her. Arranged marriages between powerful Pureblood families are often set up before students even graduate, to secure alliances and consolidate political power. From what I've heard of Neville's Gran, I'm betting she'll lead him to the altar at wandpoint. So don't get mad at Neville, Harry – it's not his fault he was born into a family like that."

The thought of earnest, bumbling Neville stammering his wedding vows while his controlling Gran officiated in the background was the image Harry needed to restore his good humor.

He looked over at Neville, who was alternating between staring down Malfoy and glaring at the rest of the spectators, as if daring them to comment. He was like a pudgy little lion, or maybe a bristly hedgehog facing off against a pride of lions. Harry had to laugh.

"What are you all looking at, eh?" Harry barked suddenly, drawing all eyes to him and making Neville start in surprise. "Have you lot never seen a Howler before? Eat your breakfast and mind your business."

Slowly the Great Hall returned to normal, though Harry reserved one last rude gesture for Malfoy before the Serpent turned away. Neville hung his head, cheeks flaming, as Ron reached over to muss his hair.

"I'm sorry about that," he muttered, sending a sidelong glance Harry's way.

"Not your fault, mate," Ron said breezily. "That's what families are for – to embarrass us. Right, Harry?"

"Right," Harry echoed, giving Neville a whole-hearted smile. "It's not all that unexpected, seeing as how your Gran expects greatness from you."

"I should never have written her that letter," Neville muttered, reaching despondently for his glass of pumpkin juice. "But I really thought, if I told her how nice you guys are…" he trailed off with a sigh.

"It's no problem," Ron insisted, pushing a raisin scone into Neville's hands. Then a horrified expression spread across his face, like a thundercloud blotting out a clear sky. "Wait a tic – was she serious about not 'associating' with us? Does that mean you can't fight in the War Games?"

Harry hadn't even thought of that. He dropped his own scone, looking from Ron to Neville in sudden horror.

Neville squared his shoulders. "Don't be ridiculous. She said to stop associating with 'rabble.' As far as I'm aware, I don't associate with anyone who qualifies as rabble. We're going to enter the War Games this Saturday, and we're going to give Cedric Diggory a run for his galleons."

Harry and Ron cheered in unison, drawing another round of startled glances from those in earshot. Neville smiled at them, a little shakily, and added, "Let's just keep it quiet, yeah? Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and all that."

The rest of the meal passed almost normally, with chatter about classes and boasts about how they would fare in the War Games. But every now and again, Harry caught a shadow flitting across Neville's face. Harry knew that whatever happened this weekend, it wouldn't be the end of their problems.

oOoOo

The Tuesday before Hermione's first War Game, the professors summoned all of the first years together for a class quite different from anything they had experienced before. Badgers, Ravens, Lion, and even Serpents were assembled in one of the dungeon chambers, magically expanded to hold them all with room to spare. Hermione stood with Justin and Dean, near the front of the crowd.

Four professors faced them in a line. Snape and Sirius stood on either side, shooting each other occasional glares. Separating them were Bellatrix Lestrange, wand out and eyes alight, and the diminutive Flitwick. Though Flitwick barely came up to his colleagues' waists, he surveyed the assembled first years with the same intensity as Bellatrix – although, admittedly, for her it was more like a wolf gazing at an unguarded flock of sheep.

"Silence," said Professor Snape in his dispassionate drawl. It was completely unnecessary, as the first years hadn't uttered a sound.

"When he began his tenure at Hogwarts, Headmaster Riddle decreed that all of his students would learn basic self-defense against the most common threats across the Border. Whatever your futures hold, you are Hogwarts students and therefore are expected to become leaders in the Wizarding community. As such, all of you will graduate with the ability not only to defend yourselves, but to lead fellow witches and wizards against Grindelwald's forces if the Border were ever to fall."

There were some gasps from the first years – apparently to most of these children, the thought of the Border failing had never crossed their minds. Hermione was surprised to realize that she had never thought of that, either. Somehow, she had just assumed that the Border was eternal and unchanging; most likely because every witch and wizard she had met had acted like that.

"Quit your whingeing," Bellatrix sneered. "We're at war, and we haven't managed to push back the Border lines for a quarter-century. Failure is a very real possibility, which means you good-for-nothing Mama's boys and Daddy's little princesses need to be prepared if the battle comes to you."

Snape nodded curtly to Bellatrix. "Precisely. Which is why the four of us are sacrificing valuable time each week to teach these Border Survival lessons. What will we be learning?"

The abrupt question caught the students by surprise, and there was a rash of hesitant whispers and nudging. Snape raised a scornful eyebrow. "Nobody?"

"Come on, you lot," Sirius barked. "You've been told about the enemy since you were wee wizardlets in the nursery. Don't tell me you've forgotten so soon?"

Hermione was still drawing a blank – understandable, since she had never been a "wizardlet." Still, she felt the sting of failure when Harry Potter, of all people, raised his hand. "D'you mean the old nursery rhyme, Professor?"

Snape vented an exasperated sigh while Sirius chuckled. "Depends which nursery rhyme you're talking about, Potter."

Harry groaned and sent Sirius a beseeching gaze, but the Battle Magic professor only grinned. With the air of someone asked to sort through garbage, Harry straightened and began declaiming in a sing-song voice. "When fighting wizards-"

Ron and Neville joined in before the end of the first line, and before Hermione knew it the entire crowd of first years had joined in. Even Dean and Justin were reciting the rhyme – Hermione was the only one who didn't seem to know it. Hermione cast her eyes on the floor and mumbled the words after the others, trying to make it look as though she, too, knew the nursery rhyme.

When fighting wizards know your spells, have allies by your side.

For Inferi, call fire down and scorch their undead hide.

Dementors fear Patronus Charms, so learn to cast them well;

Bring silver for the werewolves – it will send them off to hell!

Hermione was greatly relieved when the class finished reciting – she was terrified that someone might notice she was faking. Dean and Justin had been in the Mudhouse for years, so they'd probably learned the nursery rhyme from the House Elves. But for Hermione, who had never heard it, her ignorance might be enough to expose her as a Mudblood should anyone notice.

"This simple rhyme is still the best guide civilians have for facing the horrors beyond the Border," Sirius announced. "Sure, there are other threats beyond these four, but they are by far the most common and – broadly speaking – the most deadly. Enemy wizards, the Inferi they summon, the Dementors they command, and the werewolves they unleash - the core units of Grindelwald's forces."

"We shall now split you up into groups," Flitwick squeaked. "Each of us will teach you to combat a particular threat. Week by week, we will improve your defense skills as you alternate between stations."

The teachers quickly and efficiently split up the first years into four groups. Dean's group, which included Ron and Draco Malfoy, went with Sirius to the far left of the dungeon. Hermione noticed a series of circular targets on the wall, and wooden posts with poles jutting out horizontally at various heights.

Professor Flitwick took Justin's group to the very center of the chamber, where a number of chalk circles were etched into the floor. Remembering that Flitwick had been a dueling master, Hermione guessed that his group would engage in straightforward magical combat.

Hermione rather hoped that she would be learning from Professor Lestrange, but it was not to be. Susan Bones, a brainy Serpent for whom Hermione had grudging respect, nodded briefly to Hermione as she walked off after the Transfiguration teacher.

"Stay close, lovelies," Lestrange crowed. "Unfortunately I'm fresh out of corpses, but I have some wooden Inferi that will do just as well, once I've livened them up a bit with some Transfiguration. I hope you're not squeamish around fire!"

Hermione's group included Seamus Finnigan, Padma Patil, and Gregory Goyle, to name a few. But she was less interested in her classmates than her teacher – Professor Snape watched them all with his lips curled in their habitual sneer. "You are the unlucky ones for today," he began, "because your task is by far the most difficult. I will be showing you the Patronus Charm, even though it will be years – at the very least – before you are able to cast it successfully. Follow me."

He took off towards the darkened corner situated at the back of the right side of the dungeon, not waiting to see if any of the children followed. Hermione drew her wand and stomped after him.

Years? Not if I have anything to say about it!

Snape stopped in front of an old wooden cabinet that had been wedged tightly into the corner. It rattled ominously as they approached, causing Seamus to emit a high-pitched squeak. Snape gave him a look that spoke volumes.

"Er… sorry," he muttered sheepishly.

"Clearly, we are working with some limitations in this class," Snape said, ignoring Seamus and the clattering cabinet with equal ease. "It would be unconscionable of us to animate actual corpses to create Inferi, for example, and we have neither werewolves nor Dementors for you to face. You are children, after all, and children should not be exposed to true danger until they are prepared. At the same time, you will never be truly prepared until you've had a real taste of what you may face. Therefore, we must compromise. For the purposes of learning the Patronus Charm, we will make do with a Boggart instead of a Dementor."

There were some students for whom that name meant nothing, but Hermione was not one of them. She had devoured most of the bestiaries in the library by this point, and knew very well that a Boggart was a shapeshifter that fears laughter. When Snape explained what one was and what it could do, Hermione even recognized which textbook his abbreviated explanation had been adapted from.

"Once you memorize the incantation for the Patronus Charm, you will take turns approaching the cabinet. As you do so, concentrate very hard on the image of a Dementor. You ought to remember what they look like, since you all saw at least one during the Gauntlet."

Hermione was not the only one who shivered at the reminder of the Gauntlet, though it was less fear of the memories than of the power demonstrated by the ability to insert those memories directly into her brain.

Don't worry, she reminded herself. The Polyjuice Potion is your ticket to the Restricted Section. There has to be something in there about protecting my mind!

Hermione raised her hand, drawing Snape's piercing gaze.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"You mentioned that this spell takes years to learn, right Professor? Then how do we know if we're doing it correctly or not?"

Snape pursed his lips. "That is an excellent question, Miss Granger. It would be worth House points, if we had such childish nonsense at Hogwarts. In any case, there is virtually zero chance that any of you will cast this spell correctly on your first try, or even in your first year. But it is school policy to begin as early as possible. Today's purpose is primarily to expose you to the mental effects of a Dementor's presence, which a Boggart can simulate. You should consider yourself successful if you remember the words of the spell and speak them aloud. If you manage to generate silver mist, no matter how little, you qualify as extraordinary."

Hermione's hand went up one more time. Snape sighed and answered in an acrid tone. "Something else, Miss Granger?"

"When are we expected to master this spell?"

"It varies from student to student. The average is sometime during fifth year, and it is a praiseworthy achievement. The school record, however, is the first class of second year… a record held, as it happens, by me." Something glinted in Snape's narrowed eyes. "I invite all of you to try to break this record. To, ah, sweeten the pot, as they say, I will award fifty galleons to anyone who can cast a successful Patronus by the end of the year."

Excited murmurs ran through the group, and Hermione almost laughed at the glazed greed in Gregory Goyle's beady eyes. For her part, she only nodded slightly to Snape.

Challenge accepted, Professor.

"The words to the spell are Expecto Patronum," Snape went on briskly. "Since Dementors feed on negative emotions, casting the Patronus Charm requires more than mere wand-waving. You must think of a happy memory, the happiest you can recall, and hold it in your mind as you cast the spell."

Snape set the students to practicing, prowling around to see if they pronounced the words correctly.

As usual, Hermione memorized the spell and perfected the motions with time to spare, but this time she had an unfamiliar challenge: finding a happy memory. It was impossible to think of anything before coming to the Mudhouse—those memories she had locked away, and Hermione couldn't access them without infecting them with her rage and loss.

After careful consideration, Hermione chose the conversation with Justin and Dean on the Hogwarts Express, when she first realized the depth of her new friendships. It wasn't purely happy, tinged as it was with the heaviness of responsibility, but it was the only one she could think of. It would have to do.

When everyone demonstrated their ability to speak the words of the Patronus Charm without stuttering or mispronouncing, Snape had them line up in front of the cabinet.

"One at a time," he said, readying his wand while the cabinet gave an extra-violent shake. "Focus very hard on the image of a Dementor, and try to cast the Patronus once the Boggart appears. I will step in once you reach your limit, allowing the next student in line to advance. House Elves are waiting outside with chocolate and restoratives, but I will not allow them to enter until all of you have faced the Boggart."

Padma Patil was the first student in line. She was shaking almost as much as the cabinet, but her wand was steady. Snape cast a wordless spell, causing the cabinet doors to open with a crash. A flutter of black robes burst forth, resolving into the figure Hermione recognized only too vividly from the visions of the Gauntlet.

Taller than a man, hovering several feet above the floor, was a form that resembled a Dementor down to the stretched, scabby skin visible underneath the shadow of its hood. Though the Boggart's attention was focused on Padma, Hermione registered an immediate drop in temperature. She gritted her teeth and gripped her wand tightly, while Padma struggled to call out the words of the Patronus Charm.

"Expecto… Ex—expecto patro…" she trailed off without completing the incantation. The Boggart started forward, forcing Padma a step back. Professor Snape jabbed his wand at the creature, generating a strong wind that blew it back several feet and knocked off its hood. Hermione wished it hadn't—she already felt nauseous, and seeing the creature's face didn't help one bit.

Padma staggered to the back of the line, off to the side, and one by one the other students advanced and caught the Boggart's attention. Some managed to finish the incantation, while others, like Padma, were so affected they could only stutter. None managed to generate the mist Professor Snape had mentioned.

When it was Hermione's turn, she brandished her wand and surged forward, determined not to fail. Just as she opened her mouth to begin the spell, the Boggart caught her in its eyeless gaze. The cold already searing her bones seemed to well up, freezing her throat and the inside of her mouth. She couldn't utter a sound—not a spell, not a scream, not a whisper.

Her vision grew dark, and images from the past swam before her eyes to send reality further out of focus. She saw Umbridge's beady eyes materialize in front of the fake Dementor's nightmarish features. She heard voices she remembered, speaking to her from a part of her mind she thought she had locked away.

"It's ok, honey," her father said, as Hermione wrote lines with Umbridge's quill and felt the burning in her flesh.

"We still love you," came her mother's voice, soothing even as searing pain etched itself in lines of flame along her body. "Always."

"That's how to make yourself useful," Umbridge exulted, glorying in the broken whimpers that Hermione couldn't control, couldn't hold back. Hermione's wand clattered to the floor, unheeded, as past and present merged. I must obey the rules. I must obey the rules. I must—No!

Darkness completed its conquest, submerging Dementor and Umbridge alike, finally swallowing up her parents' faces as Hermione slumped to the ground. She had time for one last thought before she hit the ground.

I don't think I'm going to win those fifty galleons…

oOoOo

Hermione woke up in the Hospital Wing in a bed that reminded her of nothing so much as waking up for the first time in the Mudhouse. She gagged reflexively, though there was nothing in her stomach to throw up.

"Are you alright, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up, shaken. Professor Snape stood a short distance from the bed, face betraying no emotion whatsoever. One of his cheeks was slightly redder than the other.

Hermione felt extremely disoriented. Her mind swam in a fuzzy sea, and she had the sense that something important was floating just out of her reach.

"Wh- what happened?"

"Your reaction to the Boggart was rather more severe than I had anticipated. Apparently there are memories of your past that affect you more severely than most students your age."

That was certainly one way to describe her memories of the Mudhouse. Hermione cast about for a different topic.

"And, uh… your face?"

Snape's other cheek tinged with red as well, and he coughed slightly. "Madam Pomfrey has long held a grudge against Professor Black and myself for our teaching methods. She seems to think we work out our, er… professional rivalry, shall we say, by pushing our respective students too far. A claim that is not, perhaps, entirely without merit."

Hermione winced in sympathy. "I don't think I want to get on Madame Pomfrey's bad side."

"An astute judgment. She is fiercely protective of the students in her care. A good trait to have, though I suspect not the best way to raise young officers or Aurors with initiative. Still, she had good reason to be cross with me… as do you. I ought to have anticipated that you might have worse memories than most of the pampered children attending Hogwarts. I apologize for my lack of foresight."

A cold flash of fear shocked Hermione fully alert, her hands tensing underneath the covers. "I don't know what you mean, Professor."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "Don't you? Very well, let's say I believe you. Is there anything you wish to ask me?"

Hermione nodded, wincing at the sudden flash of pain that followed. "What… what did I do wrong? Why was I the only one to—to react that way?" She flushed with shame.

Am I that weak?

"It was a natural reaction," Snape replied. "We begin teaching the Patronus Charm when students are young for a reason. We want to expose first years to the effects of Dementors as early as possible, when they don't have as many years of accumulated terrors to replay. The more suffering one has experienced, the stronger a hold a Dementor can have on you – which doubtless explains what happened to you. Children don't have the kind of mental discipline that can also lessen a Dementor's hold, but that can be learned. We find that controlled, prolonged exposure while young pays off significantly down the road in terms of resisting actual Dementors. Think of it like a vaccination – a small dose of the disease, administered to children so they have a resistance to the real thing as adults. "

And since most upper-caste children probably haven't been tortured, Hermione reflected, they aren't likely to have such… extreme reactions.

That made sense. She didn't like it, but at least it meant she wasn't inherently weaker than her classmates. She could overcome this, just like she would anything else – with study, practice, and determination.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, inclining her head slightly. "That makes me feel a little better. I'll work harder from now on… if only to save you from Madam Pomfrey's wrath."

Hermione could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile on Snape's face, but it became a frown too quickly to be sure.

"See that you do… and not only in the classroom, Miss Granger. For someone living a lie, a careless slip can reveal your identity to those who might mean you harm. Just because you are recovering from trauma does not mean you should let down your guard."

"Sir?"

Snape gathered his robes about him and looked down his sharp nose at Hermione. "In the Wizarding World, Miss Granger, we do not have vaccinations."

Hermione couldn't control a flinch as she realized how she'd been tricked. She tried to backpedal: "Actually, I read about vaccines in a book on Muggle history, si-"

Snape cut her off with a snort that, while amused, was not unkind. "Save it for the gullible, Miss Granger. Just keep your wits about you – even, or perhaps especially, when you think you are in a safe place."

Snape paused at the door and looked over his shoulder at Hermione. "Your friends are waiting outside to greet you. Madam Pomfrey is keeping them in line. Remember what I told you, and don't despair. Mental anguish of the kind Dementors create can be overcome – take it from one who knows."

He swept out of the ward without another word, robes swirling behind him, while Hermione struggled to think of a response. Hearing Snape, perpetually grumpy and vindictive, actually say something encouraging was throwing her for a loop. She had no idea why he would act that way, but it made her nervous. The fact that he also knew her secret meant she had one more person to be wary around.

The door opened again, and Hermione smiled as she waited for Justin and Dean to appear. She prepared herself for Justin's likely hysterics and the jokes Dean would make to cover his genuine concern.

But it was Draco Malfoy's haughty face and insufferable smirk that appeared instead.

"Merlin's balls!" Hermione spat. "Don't tell me Madam Pomfrey let you in?!"

"Language, Hermione," Draco chided, eyes glinting. He hefted a package he'd been keeping behind his back and lobbed it over to Hermione. "Chocolate from the Swiss Alps. Better than anything they've got at Honeydukes, and the best thing to eat after a run-in with a Dementor. I told Madam Pomfrey I only wanted the best for my friend," his lip curled upward as he said the word. Hermione snorted.

"Anyway," Draco continued, "since I came bearing gifts, Pomfrey let me jump to the front of the line. Your friend Justin almost had a stroke, but of course he wasn't about to start anything with Pomfrey right there."

Hermione tossed the chocolate carelessly on the bedside table, then crossed her arms and stared at Draco. "That explains how you came to be here. Still confused about the why, though. Seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to laugh at me."

"Me? Laugh at you? Stop it, you'll hurt my feelings."

"Cut the crap and tell me what you want," Hermione sighed. "Looking at your face is bringing my headache back."

"We wouldn't want that," Draco drawled. Looking at his casual smugness, Hermione began to feel apprehensive. "Very well, I won't draw out your suffering. I know your secret… Mudblood."

Hermione could see from his expression that Malfoy wasn't fishing. He knew. "Well… drat."

"Drat indeed. It was the nursery rhyme that gave you away – it wasn't obvious, but to anyone watching closely it was clear your were following a beat behind. Now, it's possible your so-called aunt didn't teach you the rhyme; maybe you never chanted it with your friends while playing Border make-believe; there's even a possibility, no matter how slight, that you never tuned in to Gilderoy Lockhart's weekend radio program and heard it there. All of these are possible. But not likely. No… the simplest explanation is that you didn't know the nursery rhyme because you're a Mudblood. And I've been taught that the simplest explanation is often the right one. I could confirm, of course. It would be a simple matter to write to my father, asking him to track down the family background of one Hermione Granger. My guess is it would lead directly to a Mudblood Integration Facility. Am I right?"

Hermione glared daggers at the Serpent boy. "You are. What happens now?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said, spreading his hands with mock innocence. "How would I benefit by exposing you? It wouldn't change how the professors treat you, since so many of them are washed-up ex-military hacks with grievances against Purebloods. Most students would ostracize you, of course, and your chances of employment would disappear. But how does ruining your future serve me? Not at all, except in the petty satisfaction of seeing you strive and fail. Better by far to keep this to myself, in exchange for your gratitude."

Hermione's mouth pursed as if she'd bitten a lemon. "So it's blackmail, then?"

A cat who'd just cornered a mouse couldn't have looked more quietly self-satisfied than Malfoy at that moment. "You're a smart girl. You figure it out."

Hermione tossed the covers aside, fingers itching to go for her wand. "What do you want?" she demanded.

Malfoy's answering chuckle chilled her blood. "As much as I can hold. But if I need anything from you specifically, I'll let you know. Enjoy the chocolate."

Hermione didn't even hear the door close, so intent was she on evaluating her new situation. It wasn't good. Most, if not all of the professors knew she was a Mudblood already, but not many of the students did. Bullying and social exclusion would follow if Malfoy made good on his threat, certainly from the Serpents and probably the Badgers as well. They would resent that she, Justin and Dean had been raised to their caste – those with little status guarded it all the more jealously.

But her school years were only the start. Not many employers would willingly hire a Mudblood for an important or sensitive post, and if it became known that she'd somehow made an enemy of a Malfoy, that number would drop to zero. There was always the Order of the Phoenix, but Hermione still had no clue how to find the so-called terrorists. Until she figured that out, she fully intended to rise as high in Salazar's government as skill and treachery could take her.

All of that meant only one thing: Draco had her over a barrel. Whatever he might ask of her, she had to do it. Otherwise, he could cut off her future with less effort than it took to swat a fly. Until she could get something of equal worth on Malfoy, or find some way to eliminate his hold on her, Hermione was well and truly trapped.

Dean and Justin tumbled into the room, distracting Hermione from her gloomy realizations. "What'd that bastard say to you?" Dean demanded immediately. "We couldn't beat the truth out of him with Pomfrey there."

Hermione filled them in as quickly as she could, while her friends grew more and more incensed.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Justin asked, glaring at the door as if Malfoy were still behind it. "We have to do what that slimy arse-rag tells us?"

"For now," Hermione said. "But we're not going down without a fight. Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever spend time in the kitchens with the House Elves?"

At the Mudhouse, Dean had spent much of his free time with the little elves, trading trinkets and filching edible treats. Though there were few hours at Hogwarts not taken up by classes or studying, Hermione hoped that Dean hadn't abandoned his old pastime.

Dean shrugged. "A few times. I brought them some feathers and rocks to trade for pastries. The House Elves here are happier than the ones at the Mudhouse, but they still enjoy talking with students. Not many take the time."

Hermione felt a flash of guilt, but she didn't have time to worry about House Elves when her own livelihood—and Justin's and Dean's—was at stake. "Can you start asking around—subtly, please—about a place where we could stash things for a few months without anyone knowing? House Elves ought to know every corner of this place, even if the staircases do move from time to time."

"Sure. I'll ask tonight—carefully, of course. What are we stashing?"

Hermione shared a conspiratorial grin with Justin and Dean. "A cauldron and some ingredients. I'll tell you more when we find a safe place to brew."

The conversation turned after that to Hermione's collapse. She reassured her friends that she felt fine and shifted to lighter topics, like what else had happened during the Border Defense lesson. She was curious about what the other professors had been teaching.

Dean had practiced knife-fighting with Sirius' group, learning basic stances that allowed a wizard to defend his wand-hand with a knife. Eventually, according to Sirius, the hybrid knife-fighting and wand-wielding allowed a skilled witch or wizard to fight effectively against werewolves. The knives they used were wooden practice blades instead of deadly silver, until Sirius thought they could be trusted with live weapons.

Out of the three of them, Justin felt the most satisfied with the lesson. Professor Lestrange taught her group a simple fire spell, which they used successfully to burn a dozen wooden Inferi to ashes. "I can teach you both the spell," he said, bouncing on Hermione's bed in his excitement, "so you can get a head start before next week's lesson."

"Don't teach it to Hermione," Dean laughed. "We don't want her to use it on Malfoy!"

"Give me some credit," Hermione sputtered. "I wouldn't do anything stupid enough to get expelled!"

No matter how satisfying it would be.

oOoOo

The end of the week arrived, though not soon enough for Harry, and with it the Halloween feast. The professors left no stone unenchanted, transforming the Great Hall into its spookiest incarnation yet.

Pumpkins with leering faces hovered above the children's heads, glowing with an unearthly light. The ceiling was like the blackest night, a dark cloak that seemed to drink in the light from the Hall. Lining the walls were granite pedestals topped by statues of hellhounds.

Harry tried not to look at these too closely. Every now and again they twitched unsettlingly, or bared alarming fangs. Harry suspected the hounds to be the work of his godfather, though the look in their obsidian eyes reminded him more of Professor Lestrange.

With the Halloween celebration that night and a War Game the next day, everyone was in high spirits. The Thestral Squad sat together in a rare demonstration of solidarity, though Harry and Hermione made sure to sit with the other four teammates separating them.

Justin spent the meal fussing over Hermione, who had only been released from the Hospital Wing on Wednesday. Harry had almost fainted himself when he saw Hermione pass out in class, because he'd feared she wouldn't be recovered by the weekend. A squad needed all six members to compete, after all. Now Hermione seemed as healthy as ever, though exasperated with Justin and his hovering.

Ron was almost as bad as Justin—he had appointed himself the team nutritionist, in charge of making sure they didn't over-indulge during the feast. "We have a match tomorrow," he admonished Neville, while sending a longing look at the roast beef and the pumpkin pie. "Have to eat light. No sauces, nothing that might sit in our stomachs. Just pasta, Neville, that's the ticket."

Harry and Justin followed Ron's directions, though with many long-suffering groans, while Dean waited until the redhead turned away before stuffing himself.

For someone who complains about his mother as much as Ron does, Harry thought, he sure does a good impression of a mother hen!

They made it through most of the feast without incident. A short while before the remains of the feast disappeared, however, when students were lingering over the last of the food on their plates, Thestral Squad received an unexpected visitor.

Harry noticed her first: a skinny redhead with a determined jaw and a purposeful stride. It took a second before he recognized her—it was Susan Bones. Neville was engaged in heated negotiations with Ron for extra dessert, oblivious to the girl approaching him from behind.

Susan coughed once to gain Neville's attention. He looked over his shoulder and, upon recognizing her, snorted pumpkin juice out his nose.

"Hello Neville," Susan began crisply. "Are you enjoying the feast?"

Neville gulped nervously. "Er… yeah. You?"

By now the other members of Thestral Squad had fallen silent. Ron shot Harry a covert wink.

Susan nodded with brisk efficiency. "Yes, of course. The decorations are lovely. Ah, hello Hermione—I hope you're feeling better after the episode with the Boggart. My aunt says that such reactions are common in real Dementor attacks, even with trained Ministry professionals, so don't let it discourage you."

Hermione acknowledged this with a neutral noise, neither affirmation nor denial. Susan once again fixed her attention on Neville, who let out an inadvertent squeak. "I assume you know why we're talking."

Neville started to shake his head, then reconsidered. "Is it… did my Gran ask you to check up on me?"

"Precisely. Following the Howler she sent to you on Monday, your grandmother sent a letter to my aunt informing her of the situation. I am to observe you and inform her if you continue fraternizing with those below your station."

Ron nudged Harry with an elbow and mouthed, Fraternizing?!

Neville's shoulders hunched defensively and his expression became mulish. "Why is it your business what I do?"

Susan regarded him with calm detachment. "We're to be married, aren't we?"

Dean spat out his mouthful of pumpkin juice. Neville squirmed as his face turned scarlet. "Er, well… I mean, that's not-"

"Stop stammering, it's unattractive," Susan sighed. "I merely came over to tell you what my aunt asked me to do… and that I won't do it."

"If you think I'm just going to sit here and let you—wait, what?"

Susan sighed and tapped her foot, as if waiting for a slow child to catch up. "I said I'm not going to give you away. I'll write my aunt and say that you're keeping your distance from Harry and Ron. Your Gran will believe whatever my aunt tells her, and my aunt will believe me. It's unlikely they'll bother to check with any other sources—your Gran detests gossip, as you well know."

Harry felt like Sirius had just punched him in the gut, and Neville didn't look much beter. "Why would you do that?" the Longbottom heir demanded.

"I already told you." Susan shared a long-suffering glance with Hermione that spoke eloquently about the obtuseness of boys. "Neville, you and I are going to be married one day. I don't want my future husband to resent me. I'm going to be a politician, after all—I need a helpmeet and supporter, not an enemy."

Poor Neville was trembling fit to burst. "Y-you never mentioned anything like this before…"

"We're at Hogwarts now," Susan said. "Our guardians aren't always going to make our decisions for us. We're old enough to start making our own way." She shook her head, then added almost as an afterthought: "Besides, your grandmother is going about this all wrong. If your hound finds a piece of spoiled meat, trying to take it away will only make the dog turn on you. Better that the dog eat it and get sick—that way it will learn its lesson."

Harry scratched his head. He wasn't sure, but he had the nagging suspicion that he and Ron had just been compared to rotten meat.

"Er… thanks, I think," Neville sputtered. "For not telling Gran, I mean."

Susan left the members of Thestral Squad dumbstruck as she walked away, throwing one last comment over her shoulder: "I do hope you win tomorrow, Neville. As childish as these War Games are, they are unquestionably popular with a lot of important people. A first year team winning would be quite an accomplishment—people would remember. If my husband gains fame in the War Games, it could be a significant help to my political career."

Silence fell as Susan completed her exit.

With great decorum, Dean refilled his goblet with pumpkin juice and presented it to Neville. "Congratulations on your future marriage, mate. I think you two will be very happy together."

Neville grasped his pumpkin juice in two trembling hands. "She terrifies me," he whispered. "Always has."

"This time she's doing us a big favor," Ron pointed out. "Now we don't have to worry about word getting back to your Gran about you taking part in the War Games."

"That's right!" Harry chimed in, as his mind caught up with the implications of Susan's promise. "We're in the clear, so forget everything except the match. Nothing exists except Cedric Diggory and his squad-"

"-and Neville and Susan, sitting in a tree!" Dean added in a sing-song voice. "K-I-S-S-I-"

Neville scrambled to put Dean in a headlock, which promptly turned into a playful brawl with Neville and Ron on one side and Dean and Justin on the other.

Harry met Hermione's eyes and surprised himself by grinning. He was even more surprised when she returned it with a reflexive almost-smile of her own.

Is this what being a team feels like?

Harry cautioned himself not to count his chickens before they hatched. Tomorrow was their first test, one more important—as far as he was concerned—than any they would take in a classroom. Susan Bones might have cleared the way for Neville to compete without fear, but the rest was up to them.

The eyes of the world will be watching… and Dad, too. We'll show them all what we've got!

oOoOo

"Begin!"

Lee Jordan's magically magnified voice boomed across the pitch, then all was silent. Harry hadn't heard a word of the announcer's introductions, since he was too busy scanning the battlefield from the vantage point of the defensive wall of his team's base.

There wasn't much to see. The entire pitch was shrouded in a thick mist that decimated visibility, making it impossible to see what kind of terrain the professors had created. A dark canopy of clouds swirled overhead, completely shutting out the sun.

The only light came from the magical barrier separating the stands from the rest of the pitch. The barrier was invisible to spectators, but for the combatants it shone with a soft violet light and blocked the stands from view. Harry knew that hundreds, if not thousands of witches and wizards were watching his team's every move, but it felt like they were alone in a dark and forbidding wasteland, cut off from civilization by deep, unfathomable magic.

"What d'you reckon, Harry?" Ron said, peering out into the mist. "I don't like the idea of heading out there blind."

"That would be stupid," Harry agreed. "We don't know what surprises the professors might have waiting for us."

"Swamps," Dean tossed out. "Quicksand, maybe. Monsters, definitely. Ooh, maybe the mist is poisonous?"

Justin gave his friend a level look. "I think you're enjoying this a bit too much."

"Time's wasting," Harry said. "If anyone has an idea, now's the time to speak up."

Hermione, who had been silent thus far, pointed skyward. "Those clouds are hanging too low to be natural. What's above them, do you think?"

Harry hefted his trusty Nimbus 2000, which had been a gift from his godfather the summer before. "I know one way to find out."

"A scouting trip?" Ron said. "Not a bad idea, although splitting up might make us vulnerable if Cedric attacks in force."

Harry shook his head. "He's as limited by this mist as we are. I think the three of us with brooms should fly above the clouds and scout out Cedric's base. We can see how many people he's left to stand guard."

"So we have to stay behind?" Dean demanded. "No fair!"

"This isn't about being fair," Hermione snapped, before Harry could say anything. "Flying is much safer than walking blind through that mist. You three go ahead—just make sure to come back once you've found Cedric's base."

"Sounds good," Harry agreed. "We'll figure out our next step once we know a little more about what's waiting for us out there."

Without wasting any more time, Harry kicked off from the wall and took to the air. Ron and Neville followed, though Neville looked a little wobbly.

Passing through the clouds took only seconds, but the sheer unpleasantness of the clammy cold and utter darkness made those seconds stretch enormously. When he broke above the clouds, however, he had to shade his eyes with one arm. The sun bathed everything in light, as if the mist-covered twilight nightmare below didn't exist.

"No quicksand up here," Neville sighed happily, pulling his broom alongside Harry's.

"There could be monsters, though," Ron called out, gesturing insistently to the east. Harry and Neville dropped low again, until their dangling feet skimmed the tops of the clouds. Where Ron had pointed, they saw a cloud of small creatures milling and whirling in the distance.

"Are those birds?"

"No," Ron replied. "Look at the way the light shines off them… they're metallic, except for the wings. I think they're flying keys."

"Probably Flitwick or Lestrange's doing," Harry mused. "Somehow I don't think it would be smart to fly straight through."

"We'll have to pass them one way or another," Neville said, his face looking a bit pale even in the sunlight. "If we assume that the flock was placed as a barrier between our base and Cedric's, at least."

"Which is likely." Harry sighed. "Fine, let's do this right. Back into the clouds. Stay right behind me, though."

Harry fixed the position of the flying keys in his mind and dove back into the clouds. He flew straight ahead, counting the seconds silently.

When he reached one hundred, and his robes were soaked through from the clouds' moisture, he risked popping up into the sunny region to check on the flock of keys.

The keys were now far behind them, and it didn't seem like the boys had been noticed. "Just a little farther," Harry said, judging by the distance separating him from the violent barrier in front.

Assuming that they were actually heading in the right direction, and that Cedric's base was as far from the violent barrier as Harry's base was on the other side of the pitch, they ought to be almost exactly above the base.

That's a lot of assumptions…

But there was nothing to do except fly below the clouds and see for themselves. When they did, Harry was glad to see that the professors hadn't gone out of their way to be tricky—the mist dissipated near the edges of the pitch, revealing Cedric's base.

The stony fortress, perfectly proportioned though smaller than the castles it was modeled upon, was easily visible from where Harry hovered, half in and half out of the clouds.

Ron let his broom drift close enough so he could whisper to Harry. "They're all there! Cedric hasn't sent anyone out."

Harry had been expecting to see some of his opponents, but not all of them. Nevertheless, there they were. Three students on brooms circled the base methodically, while the remaining three members of Niffler Squad walked the battlements of their miniature fortress.

"Should we head back?" Neville asked. "We know they're all here—we should check in with Hermione and the others and figure out our plan."

"Not quite yet," Harry said, an idea starting to take shape. "I think we have an opportunity here."

"Y-you want to attack?" Neville asked. "But there's six of them and only three of us."

"But they're stuck guarding their base," Harry said slowly. "They can only react. If we swoop down there and take them by surprise, we could gain an early advantage. And if the fliers come after us we can lead them right back to our base, where we'll have the advantage of numbers!"

"I don't think it's a good idea," Ron said, face scrunched up in concentration. "Cedric is too canny to leave his base so vulnerable. No good commander would concentrate his entire force in a single location, without scouts or alarms or something. It has to be a trap."

"Of course there's a trap," Harry agreed, grinning with the thought of the aerial firefight to come. "But what better way to throw Cedric off guard than to fly right through? We'll blast right through whatever he's got waiting, and gain the advantage."

Harry wasn't afraid at all. He had been flying since he was three years old—almost before he could walk, to hear Sirius tell it. Flying was what Harry did—no one, Serpent or Lion or anyone else, had ever outflown Harry before. This was Harry's first chance to prove himself, and now that it had presented itself he couldn't bear the thought of flying back to the base without even a taste of action.

"Still…" Ron hesitated, licking his lips.

"Just stay here if you're scared," Harry snapped. "I'll be back before you know it."

Harry tilted his broom into a dive, ignoring Ron's curse and Neville's plaintive cry.

With the six targets below growing larger with every second, Harry felt the exaltation of a bird of prey with its victims in sight. The wind whipping through his hair barely registered as he raised his wand.

A little closer…

Something seemed off about his opponents, but it didn't click until after Harry loosed his first spell. The enemy fliers weren't reacting to his dive in the slightest, not even when his Stunner passed a mere meter from one's head.

The unwelcome realization dawned when his second spell hit his target and passed through, dispersing the illusion into a thousand motes of light.

They're not real!

The enemies standing on the outer walls of the base activated Shield Charms, which they hunkered behind as Harry completed his dive and began to climb. He saw Ron and Neville following behind—they had come after him after all.

But now that all three of the illusory opponents on brooms had disappeared, that meant that Harry and his teammates had revealed their positions. Sure enough, three dark forms emerged from the cover of the clouds overhead. Harry recognized Cedric's form, slightly taller and broader than the others.

Adrenaline pumped through him as he considered the situation. Cedric and his fliers had the advantage of height, and Harry's team now had to worry about spells from both above and below.

Harry began an aerial corkscrew to gain some distance from the kill zone that the air above the enemy base had become. But at that moment, Cedric and the other two fliers initiated a spell in combination—golden motes shot from their wands and took the form of a vast, golden web anchored by the three wands.

Cedric's trio dove in unison, maintaining the web and zeroing in on Neville. He was clearly the clumsiest flier on Harry's team, which made him the right target. His attempt to change direction brought him perilously close to a Stunner shot from one of Cedric's teammates still on the base, which he lurched to one side to avoid and nearly lost his seat.

He didn't have a chance to avoid the golden net, which acted on him like some kind of paralysis spell. His muscles locked in place, and he began to topple off his broom.

For Harry it seemed as though time slowed down. He reversed direction and dove after Neville without a second thought, waving at Ron to come in from the opposite direction. As Harry dove, coaxing every bit of speed he could from his Nimbus 2000, the golden net spell disappeared.

Harry and Ron timed their catch perfectly, slowing Neville's fall and sharing his weight as they leveled out from a straight dive into a controlled glide. But with the need to carry Neville, both Harry and Ron were unable to speed up or change direction.

Ron was hit first, by a Stunner from above. Harry screamed as he watched his friend's face go slack, even as his broom sagged with the weight of two motionless passengers.

How could I have been so stupid?! Harry despaired as a barrage of spells tracked him relentlessly through the sky. It WAS a trap, and I fell for it—flew right into it. It's all my fault!

A Stunner hit Harry from below, and he greeted darkness as a welcome escape from his guilt.

oOoOo

There were few things as agonizing, Hermione realized, as waiting. Nothing was worse than staring into the mist, unable to aid her teammates or even know where they were, all while her mind tried to trick her into seeing shapes that weren't there, threats that never materialized.

For what seemed like an eternity, Hermione, Justin, and Dean patrolled the walls of their base, waiting for Harry and the others to return with some news of the enemy.

Finally, when Hermione was sure she could take it no longer, three dark shapes emerged from the clouds and approached the base at high speeds.

"Wait a sec-" Justin said, squinting hard at the approaching figures. "Are there… two people on that broom?"

A second more and the figures were close enough for Hermione to see that Justin was right. Even worse, not one of the advancing fliers had Ron Weasley's mop of red hair.

"It's not our team!" Dean cried, snapping off two consecutive Stunners.

The base, only a minute ago so quiet in the spooky twilight, became a chaotic whirlwind of shouts and spell flashes. Justin and Hermione warded off the first barrage of enemy spells, but their opponents flew by too quickly for them to get off any counterspells.

As the broom with two riders swooped low towards the base, one of the riders leapt from the broom and landed not ten paces from Hermione, dropping into a roll to soften the impact. Hermione found herself facing Cedric Diggory, the Captain himself, while Justin and Dean stood back to back to prepare for the next pass by the three fliers. Hermione waved them off when they moved to help her—they were outnumbered as it was.

"Your friends were a little too rash," Cedric said, sounding far too casual for someone who had just jumped from a moving broom. "I'm afraid you three are on your own."

"We like it that way," Hermione snarled, though her heart was pounding.

Potter, you block-headed numbskull! After all your big talk, you can't even complete a simple scouting mission?!

Cedric led with Expelliarmus, which Hermione countered with a textbook-perfect Shield Charm. She even managed to angle it so that the rebounded spell forced Cedric to dive to his right.

He raised his eyebrows, even as he sent another Disarming Charm her way. "Most first years don't have that good a grasp on the Shield Charm. Not bad!"

Out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw Justin slump down, clipped by a passing Stunner. She snarled at Cedric. "Don't patronize me, asshole! Stupefy!"

Cedric barely seemed to move, yet the spell missed him with inches to spare. He shrugged his shoulder. "Have it your way. Incendio!"

A column of flame roared from his wand, slower than a Stunner but vastly more terrifying in its intensity. Hermione put up her strongest Shield Charm, though the heat radiating from the deadly inferno washed over her and made her stagger. She held the spell until the flames receded, replaced by a cloud of smoke that obscured her vision.

Hermione snapped her wand forward, preparing to speak another spell, when Cedric came leaping out of the smoke like an avenging angel. His Shield Charm turned her Stunner aside, and he followed with a spinning kick that hit Hermione's arm with a sharp crack. A flash of pain radiated up her arm and through her shoulder, all the way to her spine.

Her wand fell as Hermione cradled her newly broken arm to her chest. Cedric kept his wand trained on Hermione, a faintly apologetic look flashing across his features.

"Misjudged the force," he said. "Sorry about that, but Professor Lestrange takes it out of our hide if we go easy on the girls. Don't worry, broken bones are a cinch to fix. You won't be the only one—looks like your teammate gave Belby a nasty fall."

Hermione turned around as Cedric's words filtered through the fuzz in her brain. She saw Dean lying face-first over Justin, with two of Cedric's teammates dismounting from their brooms nearby. The third one was nowhere to be seen.

We lost, Hermione thought. She knew the words meant something, something important, but she couldn't quite grasp it through the pounding in her brain. Then she was falling, her vision blurring, and nothing seemed important any more.