AN: I've gotten more than one review asking if I got the idea for this story from the movie "Avalon High" (you readers do know good 'ol "AH" was a book first , right? Just checking. LOL.) Anwho, my answer is yes and no. Yes, I did draw some inspiration from that movie/book/fandom, just cuz it's awesome so why not, but some of my ideas came from completely different things as well. Also I want to make as clear as possible that there are NO reincarnations (unlike what is implied in the "AH" movie) in this fanfic; I have an upcoming sub-plot reason for that, trust me. Also, while I'm talking to my readers, I want to thank you all for your kindly meant well wishes, but to at the same time, send out the reminder that I do NOT celebrate New Years.

While keeping the alarming matter of what happened to Lucy the night of the ball a secret from her fellow pupils had been an easy enough concept in theory, it wasn't all that simple when put into practice.

It was rather akin to claiming there had been no carriage accidents as of lately while standing next to a pitiful wreck that was clearly a carriage in its previous existence.

Edmund had a single, large, extremely dark, black-and-blue bruise on his forehead from a lucky blow Maugrim had been able to deliver before first saying his final words and then dying. And Lucy's limp was an even more obvious problem.

Coriakin and his daughter could suggest Edmund cover the bruise with make-up during class-time until it healed all they wanted, but that would do nothing whatever to help hide the fact that Lucy couldn't walk straight from the other students; or even from the teachers that were not members of the Rhindon Investigation Society, for that matter.

They couldn't tell the truth. It wouldn't be safe, for one. And, for another, who would believe it? No one in their right minds would believe that Lucy had been first kidnapped by Gumpas and Pug and then attacked by a wolf who apparently used to work for the late White Witch. Only, without the truth, how could they explain that Gumpas and Pug would no longer be teachers there?

It took a fair amount of time (Lucy and Edmund missed all their morning classes because of how long it took), but finally it was Glozelle and Trumpkin who came up with a suitable plan; an official story for Lucy's limp. Lucy herself thought it was an out-right lie more than it was any kind of 'story', and she felt guilty agreeing to it, except that there was nothing else she could do.

The story was that Gumpas and Pug had unlawfully bought themselves an over-sized wild dog for a pet and had brought the creature onto school grounds without asking permission from the headmaster. When they saw Lucy in the corridor they at once took it up into their heads to show her their dog and led her outside to see it. The dog had gone mad and grabbed at Lucy's ankle savagely. Panicked and irresponsible, Gumpas and Pug had fled the scene, telling no one, leaving the princess to either be killed by the dog at once or else bleed to death. Edmund, feeling the sudden uncontrollable urge for a late-night stroll, had rushed outside, found her, killed the dog, and shouted for help until Rhince showed up and carried her into the headmaster's office to keep the matter discreet until Lucy was feeling well enough to tell everyone what had happened. So, Gumpas and Pug were being sent away for their carelessness in endangering the life of a student who also happened to be the daughter of Narnia's monarch.

The story, while not a word of it was true, did explain everything to a reasonable degree. Edmund thought it made Gumpas and Pug seem too borderline-innocent, as if their intentions had been good, but Lilliandil disagreed, pointing out that it showed them as despicable cowards, having no regard for school rules, and cold-hearted enough to forsake an injured young lady in her time of great need.

So, when the count and the princess finally showed their faces in the classroom for science lessons that afternoon, that was what they (or, more precisely, Edmund, as Lucy felt rather tongue-tied and could not get out the right words) prepared to tell their anxious peers.

Marjorie's hands flew to her mouth when she saw Edmund's forehead; and Jill, seated beside her, gasped, "There's something the matter with Lucy's foot, I think. She's walking on it all wrong!"

"You're late," Mr. Ketterley said, not seeming to notice or care about their unusual appearances as they entered. "I trust you naughty children have an excuse?"

Edmund frowned automatically. There was something so condensing about Andrew Ketterley which made him impossible to like, or even respect. His disregard for anything that was not instantly and obviously useful and practical, his apparent selfishness and stubbornness, his heartless manner of speaking about every given subject, and a few other characteristics, reminded Edmund-to a much lesser and not so very dangerous degree-of someone he'd known as a small child; and he despised the man for that. Furthermore, Andrew had once, after drinking too much brandy, even though he wasn't supposed to drink on the school grounds because of his habit of overindulgence, called Edmund, "my little man," which, needless to say, annoyed him tremendously.

Lucy reached out and handed Mr. Ketterley a note from Headmaster Coriakin stating that they had both been in his office all morning. "We were told to give you this."

Mr. Ketterley read the note over, looked somewhere between pacified and apathetic, and told them to be seated.

Neither Edmund nor Lucy really learned anything from the lesson that day, both greatly distracted.

Edmund's mind was wondering, by turn, why Andrew always rubbed his hands together like that, and what he was going to do about Lucy supposedly being the next High King Peter; there had to be some way to make her see reason, to make her realize it couldn't be true. Because, he knew her too well. Now that there was a reason behind Professor Kirke's assignment, Lucy would plunge into finding out as much about Peter's end as possible. They might get high marks on a well-written composition, but that hardly felt worth getting the poor girl all petrified and high-strung, thinking she had to fight evil or whatever.

As for Lucy, she was pondering over if Edmund really could be Susan in this generation or not. If she was Peter and he was Susan, did that mean there was supposed to be something more than mere friendship between them? She thought of what she had felt when they'd danced at the ball. But Edmund, whatever Professor Kirke said, didn't have much in common with Queen Susan of Narnia aside from his swimming skills. For one thing, Ed couldn't 'shoot worth a damn', as Lucy had once heard one of their archery tutors put his lack of obvious talent at that particular sport when he'd thought she wasn't listening, and Susan had been an expert archer. But, on the other hand, they were both sort of practical-minded and sensible to a fault, and Edmund had given her that apple, so it wasn't too hard to see where the Rhindon Investigation Society was coming from…

"Miss Pevensie!" Mr. Ketterley's shinny eyes were focused on her. "Are you paying attention?"

"No, Sir," she admited.

Edmund almost slapped his forehead before he remembered the bruise and realized how much that would hurt. Why did Lucy have to be so honest? Anyone else would have lied and said yes, and then perhaps awkwardly tried to recite a lesson they hadn't actually heard a single word of.

"You, gel, will stay after class," Mr. Ketterley informed her. "I will have a word with you."

"Ooh," laughed Eustace, leaning back in his seat to make faces at the princess. He mouthed, quite snottily, "You're in trouble…"

Edmund stuck out his tongue at his roommate in Lucy's defense.

"Mr. Ketterley!" Eustace shouted out, fully prepared to complain about Edmund 'disrespecting him'.

But the science teacher ignored his shrill cry, circling something on an 'elements chart' displayed at the front of the room with black ink, and the blighter soon realized he was missing out on note-taking opportunities galore as the lesson was progressing, and as he refused to let his marks take a hit, he forgot about the count of the Western Marsh for the time being.

When the lesson was over, Lucy, of course, had to stay behind. Edmund tried to stay behind with her, except Mr. Ketterley wouldn't let him, insisting he leave the room as Lucy's 'lack of attention in class' had nothing to do with him. He thought this most unfair, as he himself had paid just as little attention as his companion, if not less. However, as there was nothing he could do, he simply whispered shortly to her that if Mr. Ketterley (who he did not trust) tried anything like Gumpas and Pug had she should scream out at the top of her voice and he, waiting just outside the door, would rush in and help her.

In all honestly, Edmund didn't really believe that Mr. Ketterley was a member of the Order of the Dryads; he suspected him of something entirely different, not to mention completely unconnected to what the Rhindon Investigation Society were supposedly fighting against. Still, as he had no proof either way, it was better safe than sorry. Deep down, part of Edmund had been feeling sort of guilty because of having done nothing after seeing how Pug and Gumpas looked at Lucy that day at the lake. Did that make what had happened maybe a little bit his own fault? Could he have prevented that if he'd reported his discomfort regarding those two maybe to Professor Kirke-since he was the most trustworthy out of the teachers here?

Lucy listened to Mr. Ketterley go on and on about how he didn't like teaching to begin with and, thus, liked it even less when his pupils got it in their heads to make it difficult for him. He made a very self-righteous speech that, in short, implied he thought himself far more important than anyone else at the school and wished to be treated accordingly. Although she wouldn't have said so out loud, Lucy thought he was out-right whining to her; any other teacher in the building-aside from Gumpas and Pug, of course-would have been firm yet attempted to be fair in his criticism all the same. Andrew Ketterley didn't even punish her by giving her extra night-work or threatening to send her to the Headmaster's office if she kept not paying attention in the future.

Finally, the man got distracted and told her he was thirsty and would be back in a few moments. He said she had better still be there when he returned, but he didn't say it very threateningly.

Most students, upon seeing that expression on their teacher's face, would have gathered that he didn't mean he was going to get himself a drink of water, and would have just left in hopes that the man would be tight as anything when he returned and not even remember that he was supposed to be giving a lecture to a pupil. But Lucy was an innocent and would have never, unless she sensed true physical danger to herself, disobeyed an authority figure, so she stayed.

The only problem was that she was a little bored and restless just sitting there. In the end, she decided she had to stand and move around a little or else her hurt ankle would fall asleep and sting terribly for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, while moving about, she accidentally banged her hip into the side of Mr. Ketterley's desk, dislodging a loose draw at the bottom.

It would have never occurred to her to rummage through his things, only she saw that there was a large, very expensive-looking, book there (the kind that closes with a leather clasp), and couldn't help herself.

I'll just take one quick look, she thought, figuring that she might have time to put it back before Mr. Ketterley returned.

Bending down, she lifted the book out of the draw and placed it on the desk.

The tome was brown with black writing on the front, and gold-leaf on the spine and on the edge of all the pages (all of which were made of the very strongest, most extravagant paper).

The title made no sense, appearing to be naught but a jumble of nonsense words; or else, it was in a language she did not know. Certainly it wasn't Lantern Waste French, nor old or modern Narnian. And it wasn't Ettinsmoor-Latin, either; for it had been, she could have recognized the letters and read them easily.

The clasp wouldn't come undone, much to Lucy's now deepening disappointment.

Lifting her fingers up from the book, she realized, surprised she hadn't earlier, that they were covered with dust. The tome was remarkably dusty. Andrew Ketterley really ought to be ashamed for keeping such an apparently fine book in so neglectful a state!

Without really thinking about it, Lucy took a deep breath and blew off the layer of dry, grimy dust.

As if by magic (and perhaps it truly was), the letters twisted into something recognizable and she could make out the title at last: The Book of Incantations.

'Incantations': what did that mean? It was the Lantern Waste French word for it, and while Edmund probably would have known what it meant at once, Lucy didn't. She knew she'd seen the word before, and known it before, but as of right then, its meaning alluded her.

She was able to open the clasp now, and she lifted the great cover. There was no title page; but she supposed the book didn't really need one.

The first readable page surprised her, though. It was something about taking a swarm of bees. Lucy had no notion of taking a swarm of any sort of insect and she found it odd that anyone else would. Where exactly was the purpose in that? Not even someone as clueless as Andrew Ketterley could possibly have use for a whole swarm of bees. Unless he intended to open a honey shop or something of that nature. But he didn't strike Lucy as a 'honey shop' sort of person. Well, at least the picture of the bright, golden bees was extremely pretty if nothing else.

She turned the page. It claimed to be a cure for warts. According to the writing, you had to wash your hands in a silver basin in the light of a new moon. Which, really, explained why everyone couldn't rid themselves of warts just for the asking; because, honestly, how many people out there had basins of real silver at their disposal? Lucy did, but she was a princess. It was a moot point, also, as she didn't actually have any warts.

Laughing, she turned the page again.

Next was a whole mess of things she would have never imagined anyone would have put into a published book. Poems that claimed to make you forget and/or remember things. How could a poem help a person remember anything important? She loved poetry, but this was just plain silly. And the poems weren't even very nice; their only strong point was that they rhymed, and that wasn't saying much.

The next 'poem' she came across was a very little bit nicer than the previous ones had been, and she felt a funny urge to read it aloud.

Well, why not? She thought. Mr. Ketterley hasn't returned yet, and no one will over-hear if I read it nice and soft-like.

"With these words," she recited, very prettily in a low, low voice, "your tongue most sew, for all around there…to be snow…"

The page she was looking down at was ebony black, but out of nowhere a speck of white appeared on it. It had a distinctive pattern, not like a soap-flake or piece of lint; it was a snowflake, pure and true.

"Where did that come from?" Lucy glanced at the window.

Was it snowing outside? No. And the window was closed, regardless. Yet, somehow or other, the room was now filling with beautiful, fresh, crisp white snow.

It was so splendid that she looked up and smiled at the flakes in awe, not even noticing how cold she was beginning to feel.

The snow had refreshed her spirit to a lovely high, but as she began to come down from that high, the princess sensed something amiss. There was something seriously the matter with this odd poetry book, something she didn't like. It had to do with the word 'incantations' and its meaning, she was fairly certain.

The next page was different. It was grainy and had a life-like sort of picture about it, not quite like a painting, yet not quite like watching something happen directly in front of you. The edges of the page were blurry while the rest was clear like crystal, save that some of the colours seemed either too bright or too dull and sort of hurt Lucy's eyes.

To her utter shock, she saw Marjorie sitting in a rocking-chair in her dorm room, looking a little sad and tired.

"Marjorie!" she started to say cheerfully, before she realized her friend could not hear nor see her.

Something told Lucy instinctively that this was happening right now; Marjorie was skipping whatever class she was supposed to be in at the moment, taking a bit of a break.

Well, she supposed the bruise on Edmund's forehead had jarred the poor girl a little, knowing how fond Marjorie was of him.

But how could something happening right then be in that book?

She should have averted her eyes, for the princess knew eavesdropping was wrong; but was it really eavesdropping to look at a book? That wasn't the same thing, was it? No, it was more akin to reading. That had to be right. It sounded right, at any rate. Or maybe she was only trying to convince herself it was right because she was curious and wanted to see what was happening.

Suddenly, Anne Featherstone was there, too, going through her closet, looking prim.

Marjorie sighed.

Anne turned to look at her. "Are you all right?"

Lucy could have been knocked over with a feather! Had Anne actually said something kind? Was she really worried about Marjorie? Perhaps there truly was a first time for everything.

"No," said Marjorie. Then, hastily, "I mean, yes, I'm fine; thanks."

Anne shook her head. "No, you're not."

"I'm not?" Marjorie blinked at her.

"You're angry with me, aren't you?" Anne looked almost pitiful for about half a second.

"Angry?" Marjorie gasped, wide-eyed. "With you?"

"I knew it. Well, I know we got off on the wrong foot."

"Y-yes," Marjorie answered shakily; "I suppose we did. Why?"

"I know I was a little standoffish when you first came here, am I right?"

Lucy frowned and would have snapped, "Yes, if 'standoffish' were a word meaning 'snobbish, Aslan-insulting brat'," if Anne could have heard her.

As she clearly couldn't, though, Lucy just kept on listening, wishing Marjorie would grow a back-bone and tell Anne off, but strongly doubting her nervous friend would do anything of the sort.

"A little," agreed Marjorie.

"Well, I've decided to make it up to you," Anne announced, smiling.

Marjorie's whole face lit up. "Really? I mean, you don't have to…"

"Yes, I do." Anne held up one of her hands like she was about to swear on scout's honour or something. "I've been beastly. And I think I know just what to do about being friends now."

Marjorie was beaming uncontrollably; Anne had just said they were 'friends'!

"I'm going to let you try on my new hat."

"Not the one with mint-green velvet and polar bear fur?" Marjorie gasped, her eyes shinning.

"That's the one," Anne told her, nodding.

"I couldn't-" Marjorie began modestly, overcome with gratitude.

Anne was holding out the hat to her now. "I insist."

"All right, then." She took the hat and put it on, glancing into the nearest mirror. "Well, it looks nicer on you."

"Pshaw," laughed Anne. "That isn't true at all. You ought to get a hat like that; green and white suits you."

What do you want, Anne? Lucy wondered. Innocent-minded as she was, it seemed unlikely Anne was doing this out of the goodness of her heart. Either the Featherstone girl wanted something from Marjorie, or she was seriously bipolar, or else had a twin sister who was her opposite in every way but shared her name and closet.

"You really think so?" asked Marjorie, glancing over her shoulder at Anne's expression, wondering if the girl was teasing her.

"Yes, I do." She grinned widely, then looked very thoughtful. "Hey, I just had the most brilliant idea!"

"What is it?" Marjorie smiled back expectantly.

"The best way I can prove we're really friends now."

"Oh, loaning me the hat was nice enough…"

"No it wasn't, I've just thought of something better."

"What is it?" Marjorie couldn't help being profoundly interested. Was Anne going to let her try on a dress to go with the hat?

"You like Edmund Pevensie, don't you?"

Marjorie blushed. "Yes."

Lucy felt her whole body tense up unexpectedly.

"So if somebody-say, a good friend-was to find out if he liked you in return," Anne mused, "you could maybe talk to him about courting or something, couldn't you?"

"Oh, I couldn't," stammered Marjorie.

"Not even if you knew he liked you?"

"Does he?"

"That's what I'm going to try to find out, you half-wit!" snapped Anne, getting frustrated and nearly giving herself away. "Erm, sorry. I've been under some stress," she amended. "What I meant was, I don't know yet, but I suppose he does. Soon I'll be able to tell you for sure."

"Oh," said Marjorie.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"It's perfectly lovely of you," she told her, "but even so, I don't think I could talk to him…I'd get so…so…flustered…"

"Hmm…" Anne pretended to be perplexed. "I say! I think I've got it now, Marjorie."

"Have you?"

"Yes indeed!"

"Yes?"

"Supposing he likes you, all you would have to do is ask Lucy Pevensie to speak with him on your behalf."

"Ask Lucy?" Marjorie repeated, sounding kind of dense and parrot-like.

Anne raised a fair brow at her. "And why not? You've been so taken up with her this term and everything."

"Don't know what you mean by taken up," Marjorie told her.

"Yes, you do," said Anne. "You're positively crazy about her. You've been friends since arriving here."

"Well, yes, that's true enough. She's a good kid in her way, isn't she?"

Lucy half wanted to smack Marjorie for trying to sound so grown-up in front of Anne. She decided not to hold a grudge, however, knowing Marjorie did love her and was only weak because of her admiration of Anne Featherstone.

"Exactly," Anne went on. "So it should be rather simple. That's what friends do for each other. I would speak to Edmund for you myself, but I'm not so close to him as she is. Given, finding out whether he likes you, that I should be able to do no problem. But talking directly to him for you, that'll be easier for Lucy, don't you think?"

"Well, of course it would!" Marjorie agreed, starting to feel excited now.

"She'll do it for you, won't she?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"You suppose? Don't you know it? I would. And I haven't been your friend for as long, you will recall…"

Marjorie nodded happily. "That's right. Of course she will."

"Very well, that's settled then. Think of it as a peace offering between us."

I don't see you giving any of your 'peace offerings' to me or Jill, thought Lucy bitterly, and you insulted us, too.

And wasn't that a bit rude of Marjorie to think that Lucy would speak to Edmund for her? Suddenly Lucy felt a little sick. Because it wasn't rude. It was what friends were supposed to do for each other. And if Edmund liked her…(did he like Marjorie?)…of course Lucy would be expected to speak to him for her friend's sake.

Not so very long ago, the idea wouldn't have bothered her in the least. She could speak to Edmund about nearly everything, and she would have wanted both of her friends to be happy. The problem was, although their happiness was as important to her as ever, after what she'd felt at the ball, she wasn't sure she could go through with something like that.

Afterwards, Lucy was never sure if the next scene was something the book-with its own agenda-had decided to taunt her with or if she simply imagined it in her mind's eye.

It was like this: she and Edmund were in her room, sitting near the hearth, working on that composition regarding High King Peter's end, and she opened her mouth to speak to him for Marjorie, and instead, all that came out was, "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

She shook her head and she was back watching Marjorie and Anne chattering away like old pals, making plans. Lucy wanted to hear no more of it.

It was nonsense and she felt stupid as anything, but a single big tear (strangely angry), rolled down her face and landed on the page with a fat-sounding plop.

Her nose was red and all the snow piled up in the room was beginning to make her feel chilled, but as soon as Lucy saw the next page, she went from numb to hot all over to out-right enchanted.

The page depicted a beautiful round looking-glass on one page, and the words, an infallible spell to make beautiful she who uttereth it as she has long wished to be, were scrawled in shimmering silvery-gold script on the opposite.

Lucy peered down into the looking-glass on the page and saw something extraordinary happen.

First, it was merely her usual reflection staring back at her, then her face disappeared and the image in the looking-glass frame became a portrait that was clearly a depiction of Queen Susan, consort of High King Peter of Narnia.

The portrait blazed and came suddenly to life. The great queen turned her head and looked directly at Lucy. As the two young woman, one a legendary beauty, one a princess who thought herself painfully plain, gazed at each other through the book, there was the sound of something clicking-like a trap snapping shut.

Susan's face in the looking-glass began to change; it merged with that of Lucy's until the girl starting back at the Narnian Princess was not Susan at all but, rather, Lucy herself possessing Susan's kind of beauty instead of her own, which she had never really seen to begin with and did not actually miss very much now.

She reached up and touched her face. Her fingers looked the same outside of the book's looking-glass, but in the book they were so pretty…as was her face…

"I'm beautiful," Lucy murmured, tearing her eyes away, dazzled.

So that was how she would look if she were beautiful. Never had she imagined such improvement; never had she envisioned herself prettier than anyone she had ever seen before, with the sole exceptions of Lilliandil and Ivy; who were a star and a god's daughter anyway and, as such, did not subscribe to the same levels of beauty as mere mortals.

"No…" said Lucy shakily, trying to free herself from the trap she felt her whole soul falling into at a disturbingly fast speed.

The trap was long shut, but she'd push it back open if she had to. For now she remembered what Incantations meant. It was the words, 'infallible spell' that brought the meaning back to her; it wasn't good.

It was black magic, witchcraft.

That's what the book was: a book of spells. That's what Andrew Ketterley was; a secret magician. And she had been reading his magic book, using it! She felt sick to her stomach.

All this time Lucy had been seemingly innocently dappling in something she saw now she had no control over, no understanding of, and no business with. Aslan would be very displeased. She wanted to cry. She hadn't known…she hadn't meant to…she wished she hadn't touched the book to begin with.

She would close it now, she had to. But before she could will herself to do just that, she found herself pondering over if she ought to report Mr. Ketterley to Headmaster Coriakin. True, he was no 'dryad', but he was dabbling in something wicked. But, then, what had she herself just been doing? Did that make her a witch? She'd cast a spell that made it snow, and she'd listened to what her friend was saying about her using magic. No, no, she was no witch; she knew she wasn't. It was an honest mistake. She would take the book to Coriakin right this moment.

And she would have, if only she hadn't looked down into that blasted looking-glass again. The trap was pressing in on her; she wasn't out yet. There was her beautiful, Susan-equivalent face staring up at her.

She wanted to be beautiful, but it wasn't worth doing something like this; not worth knowingly chanting a spell.

The looking-glass clouded.

It cleared and was then showing Susan and Lucy (with her regular face) standing side by side. It was a sad comparison, Lucy thought darkly. She wished the book would stop it already, or at least that her hands would obey her and slam the thing shut. But neither wish was granted. The princess kept looking.

One minute she was almost out, the next she was hesitating-teetering on the edge-again. She nearly won, but the looking-glass seemed to know everything she desired, and it tormented her. It showed her getting admiration from her classmates, a thing she had never even thought she wanted or cared about up till then. It showed her walking gracefully, her new limp gone as if it never was.

And for the first time she wondered if her new way of walking thanks to that wolf-bite had made her even less attractive than before.

"I don't care," Lucy gulped, swallowing as hard as she could manage. "I don't care. I don't want it…any of it…"

The next image was like a slap across her face. It showed her walking out of the classroom, utterly beautiful, moving as perfectly straight as a ballerina, and Edmund standing there, catching sight of her.

His eyes were wider than she had ever seen them before, and he reached out, gingerly, almost as if he were scared to touch her, and placed two of his fingers on her left cheek.

"What happened?" he asked her, looking as if he were the one under a spell. "You're so beautiful…"

Maybe he was worth it. And no one would know how it happened. Marjorie would be angry that the object of her affections was suddenly fascinated with his best friend who had become absurdly beautiful without any warning. She didn't want to hurt Marjorie, of course; to sacrifice one friend in hopes of making another fall in love with her wasn't right. Only, how could Marjorie even stay upset with her when she looked like that? In her beautiful state she was even more comely than Anne Featherstone; Marjorie would have to forgive her. And if Edmund had any misgivings about his best friend changing her face for whatever reason, he would forgive her, too.

Lucy looked back at the words of the spell. They jumped from their page and gathered themselves onto the looking-glass page, looking like specks of fairy-dust in the shape of tiny letters.

The looking-glass glowed brightly; it was so warm and inviting.

She opened her mouth to say the words glowing from the glass but nothing would come out.

And then the words were backwards, like when you hold a book up to a mirror and you can't read the reflection.

There was a roaring in Lucy's ears. She still knew she was making a bad decision, that she wasn't herself at this moment in time.

This wasn't her, these broken voices in her head telling her to do it. That roaring, so Lion-like, was extremely loud…it was over-powering all of the voices, including the one she knew was her own former good-sense, desperate to get her attention before it was too late.

Inhaling sharply, Lucy grabbed the inner edge of the page, ripped it right out of the book, and hastily folded it up.

She couldn't think clearly in this room, not now. But later…later she might reconsider.

The trap was caught in the half-way point, hovering in mid-air.

She exhaled and stuffed the book back into the draw where she'd found it. (She was thinking she wasn't going to tell Headmaster Coriakin right away after all; she was confused, in need of more time to think about it.)

"Lucy?"

The door began to crack open and the snow started vanishing rapidly.

By the time Edmund entered the room, his expression both concerned and cross, it was all gone except for a few scattered white flakes in Lucy's hair and a small puddle of ice-water in one of her boots.

"I don't think Mr. Ketterley is coming back," he told her. "Can we please just go now? We've missed more than half of whatever our next class was."

"Yes," said Lucy, trembling as she limped over to him.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing whatever." For the first time in her life the lie came effortlessly.

"You look different."

Lucy's hand flew to the side of her face automatically. Had she said the spell without realizing it?

"Your face is flustered and there's all these little white things in your hair."

Oh. So that was all. She wasn't beautiful or anything. All right, then. Time for the next class.

"I'm fine, really."

"Lu, you should have come out a long time ago," he said, a little harshly. "You know I would have covered for you if Mr. Ketterley said anything."

Her conscience pricked her. "I've kept you waiting outside the door all this time!"

"Well, yes, you have," he said shortly. "Just don't do it again. Let's go."

"Edmund," she said softly as he helped her over the threshold of the classroom door and out into the corridor, "if something happened to my face and it was…different…would you mind very much?"

His forehead crinkled. "You mean if you were burned by acid or something?"

"No, not like that." She shook her head tiredly. "Never mind."

"Very well, Lu."

"What do you think of spells?"

"Of spells?" he repeated.

"Yeah, like magic and all that."

"It's either rot or vile," he said flatly.

"Do you know anything about it?"

He stopped in his tracks. "Has Caspian been saying nonsense about me being a witch's servant again? Because if he has…"

"No, no." Lucy waved that off. "Of course not. That isn't what I meant at all."

There is no telling where the conversation would have gone from there, because it was cut off.

Gumpas, having forgotten a pair of shoes and an ugly neck-chain belonging to him in his small former office, had returned to retrieve these items in spite of being banded from the school-grounds.

He passed by Lucy and Edmund in the corridor at that very moment, and Edmund felt his blood boiling.

"Ed…" Lucy gripped her best friend's shoulder tightly.

"Please, please let me hit him," Edmund begged her through gritted teeth.

"No!" She didn't want them to get into a fight and Edmund get hurt. "Do let's get on. You said we were late for class."

He agreed to leave Gumpas alone, but how bitterly it cost him was written all over his strained, furious face. And he didn't speak again (not even to Lucy) for nearly an hour.

AN: Please review!