Chapter 21
Lady Zira's Request
KIARA
Chrissie and I left the hospital wing first thing on Monday morning, restored to full health by the ministrations of Matron and we were both able to enjoy the benefits of having been knocked out and poisoned, the best of which was that Sian and Chris were both friends with Chrissie again. Sian and Chris even escorted us down to breakfast, bringing with them the news that Chris had argued with Dena. My heart suddenly began to feel hopeful, though I tried to keep my face calm and impassive.
"What did you row about, Chris, if you don't mind me asking?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as we turned into a seventh-floor corridor which was deserted but for a very small boy who had been examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. He looked terrified at the sight of us sixth-years approaching and dropped the heavy brass scales he was carrying.
"It's all right!" said Sian kindly, hurrying forwards to help him. "Here .." She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, "Reparo."
The boy did not say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as we passed and watched us out of sight; Chrissie glanced back at him.
"I swear they're getting smaller," she said.
"Never mind him," I said, a little impatiently. "What did you and Dena row about, Chris?"
"Oh, Dena was laughing about MacGuire hitting that Bludger at you," said Chris.
"It must've looked funny," said Chrissie reasonably.
"No, it didn't!" said Chris hotly, as Sian glared at Chrissie. "It looked terrible, and if Cartwright and Peet hadn't caught Kiara she could have been very badly hurt! I also told Dena to remember that you, Kiara, are our Captain, and that she should be respectful if she wants to keep her place on the team!"
I turned to Chris, surprised, for no one had stood up for me like that before. "You said that? Really?"
"Of course I did, Kiara," said Chris gently. "You're too important to the team for us to lose you, you know."
I felt gratitude towards Chris for standing up for me like that, and my heart was beating so fast at his kindness that I was afraid he would hear it. As soon as my hear rate settled back to normal, I said, still trying to sound casual, "Yeah, well, there was no need for you two to split up over it. Or are you still together?"
"Yes, we are - but why are you so interested in my relationship with Dena all of a sudden, Kiara?" asked Chris, giving me a sharp look.
"I just don't want my Quidditch team messed up again!" I said hastily, but Chris, as well as Sian, continued to look suspicious, and I was most relieved when a voice behind us called, "Kiara!", giving me an excuse to turn my back on them.
"Oh, hi, Lincoln!"
"I went to the hospital wing to find you," said Lincoln, rummaging in his bag. "But they said you'd left ..."
He thrust what appeared to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool and a considerable amount of what looked like cat litter into Chrissie's hands, finally pulling out a rather grubby scroll of parchment that he handed to me.
" ... I've been told to give you this."
It was a small roll of parchment, which I recognised at once as another invitation to a lesson with Crighton.
"Tonight," I told Chris, Sian and Chrissie, once I had unrolled it.
"Nice commentary last match!" said Chrissie to Lincoln, as he took back the green onion, the toadstool and the cat litter. Lincoln smiled vaguely.
"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" he said. "Everyone says I was dreadful."
"No, I'm serious!" said Chrissie earnestly. "I can't remember enjoying commentary more! What is this, by the way?" she added, holding the onionlike object up to eye-level.
"Oh, it's a Gurdyroot," he said, stuffing the cat litter and the toadstool back into his bag. "You can keep it if you like, I've got a few of them. They're really excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies."
And he walked away, leaving Chrissie chortling, still clutching the Gurdyroot.
"You know, he's grown on me, Lincoln," she said, as we set off again for the Great Hall. "I know he's nuts, but it's in a good - "
She stopped talking very suddenly. Larry Brown was standing at the foot of the marble staircase looking thunderous.
"Hi," said Chrissie nervously.
"C'mon," I muttered to Chris and Sian, and we sped past, though not before we had heard Larry say, "Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? And why was she with you?"
When Chris, Sian and I entered the Great Hall, we saw Dena, who looked up eagerly at Chris, but he just ignored her. I kept my face calm, but my insides felt like they were dancing for joy. I knew that he and Dena hadn't broken up, but I couldn't help how I felt.
Chrissie looked both sulky and annoyed when she appeared at breakfast half an hour later, and though she sat with Larry, I did not see them exchange a word all the time they were together. Sian, Ben and the rest of the Dawsons watched Chrissie and Larry with barely suppressed glee, which wasn't surprising as none of them had any belief in the relationship to begin with - Sian in particular, who was in such a good mood that day that that evening she consented to look over (in other words, finish writing) my Herbology essay, something she had been resolutely refusing to do up to that point, because she had known that I would then let Chrissie copy my work.
"Thanks a lot, Sian," I said, giving her a hasty pat on the back as I checked my watch and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. "Listen, you might want to put those away for now, Sian, or we'll be late for your mother."
Sian looked up, looked at her watch, then quickly packed away her things and followed me out through the portrait hole and off to the lift that led to the Headmistress' office. The lift doors opened once Sian put the two tokens in the slot and it sped off immediately once she had mentioned our destination with us both inside it. We got off once the doors opened outside the door, which I knocked on just as a clock within chimed eight.
"Enter," called Crighton, but as I put a hand out to push the door, it was wrenched open from inside. There stood Professor Crystals.
"Aha!" he cried, pointing dramatically at Sian and I as he blinked through his magnifying spectacles. "So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from you office, Crighton!"
"My dear Cyril," said Crighton in a slightly exasperated voice, "there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Sian and Kiara do have an appointment and I really don't think there is any more to be said - "
"Very well," said Professor Crystals, in a deeply wounded voice. "If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it ... perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated ..."
He pushed past Sian and I and disappeared down the spiral staircase; we heard him stumble halfway down and I guessed that he had tripped over one of his trailing scarves.
"Please close the door and sit down, Kiara," said Crighton, sounding rather tired, as Sian ran over to embrace her.
I obeyed, noticing as I took my usual seat next to Sian in front of Crighton's desk that the Pensieve lay between us once more, as did two more tiny crystal bottles full of swirling memory.
"Professor Crystals still isn't happy Fauna is teaching, then?" I asked.
"No," said Crighton. "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Fauna to return to the Forest, where she is now an outcast, nor can I ask Cyril Crystals to leave. Between ourselves, he has no idea of the danger he would be in outside the castle. He does not know - and I think it would be unwise to enlighten him - that he made the prophecy about you and Zira, Kiara, you see."
Crighton heaved a deep sigh, then said, "But never mind my staff problems. We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly - have you managed the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson, Kiara?"
"Ah," I said, brought up short. What with Apparition lessons and Quidditch and Chrissie being poisoned and getting my skull cracked and my determination to find out what Dani Malty was up to, that I had almost forgotten about the memory Crighton had asked me to extract from Professor Beadu ... "Well, I asked Professor Beadu about it at the end of Potions, ma'am, but, er, she wouldn't give it to me."
There was a little silence.
"I see," said Crighton eventually, peering at me with those piercing, bright green eyes of hers and giving me the usual sensation that I was being X-rayed. "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"
"Well," I stated, at a loss for what to say next. My single attempt to get hold of the memory suddenly seemed embarrassingly feeble. "Well ... the day Chrissie swallowed love potion by mistake I took her to Professor Beadu. I thought maybe if I got Professor Beadu in a good enough mood - "
"And did that work?" asked Crighton.
"Well, no, ma'am, because Chrissie got poisoned - "
" - which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. But once it became clear that my daughter was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it."
A hot, prickly feeling of shame spread from the top of my head all the way down my body. Crighton had not raised her voice, she did not sound angry, but I would have preferred her to yell; this cold disappointment was worse than anything, which was not helped by Sian shaking her head slowly at me, her eyes narrowed.
"Ma'am," I said a little desperately, "it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other - other things ..."
"Other things on your mind," Crighton finished the sentence for me. "I see."
Silence fell between us again, the most uncomfortable silence I have ever experienced with Crighton; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the little grunting snores of the portrait of Amanda Dipper over Crighton's head. I remember feeling strangely diminished, as though I had shrunk a little since I had entered the room.
When I could stand it no longer I said, "Professor Crighton, I'm really sorry. I should have done more ... I should have realised you wouldn't have asked me to do it if it wasn't really important."
"Thank you for saying that, Kiara," said Crighton quietly. "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter high priority from now on? There will be little point our meeting tonight unless we have that memory."
"I'll do it, ma'am, I'll get the memory from her," I said earnestly.
"Then we shall say no more about it just now," said Crighton more kindly, "but continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was, Kiara?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said quickly. "Zira killed her mother and her grandparents and made it look as though her aunt Makasha did it. Then she went back to Dragon Mort and she asked ... she asked Professor Beadu about Horcruxes," I mumbled shamefacedly.
"Very good," said Crighton. "Now, you girls will both remember, I hope, that I told you both at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we wold be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?"
Sian and I answered at the same time.
"Yes, Ma."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thus far, as I hope you both agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Zira did until the age of seventeen?"
Sian and I nodded.
"But now, Sian, Kiara," said Crighton, "now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the girl Maliay, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the woman Zira. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from herself, who could give us a full account of her life since she left Dragon Mort. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you both." Crighton indicated the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve. "I shall be glad of your opinions as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely."
The idea that Crighton valued my opinion this highly made me feel even more deeply ashamed that I had failed in the task of retrieving the Horcrux memory, and I shifted guiltily in my seat as Crighton raised the first of the two bottles to the light and examined it.
"I hope you girls are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious recollections, these two," she said. "This first one came from a very old house-elf by the name of Hiccough. Before we see what Hiccough witnessed, I must quickly recount how Lady Zira left Dragon Mort.
"She reached the seventh year of her schooling with, as you might have expected, top grades in every examination she had taken. All around her, her classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue once they had left Dragon Mort. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Dizra Maliay, Prefect, Head Girl, winner of the Special Award for Services to the School. I knew that several teachers, Professor Beadu amongst them, suggested that she join the Ministry of Magic, offered to set up appointments, put her in touch with useful contacts. She refused all offers. The next thing the staff knew, she was working at Borgin and Burkes."
"At Borgin and Burkes?" I repeated, sounding as stunned as Sian looked.
"At Borgin and Burkes," repeated Crighton calmly. "I think you will see what attraction the place held for her when we have entered Hiccough's memory. But this was not Zira's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time - I was one of the few whom the then Headmistress confided - but Zira first approached Professor Dipper and asked whether she could remain at Dragon Mort as a teacher."
"She wanted to stay here? Why?" I asked, more amazed still.
"I believe she had several reasons, though she confided none of them to Professor Dipper," said Crighton. "Firstly, and very importantly, Zira was, I believe, more attached to this school than she has ever been to a person. Dragon Mort was where she had been happiest; the first and only place she had felt at home."
I understood where Zira was coming from, in a way - yes, I was happy at Dragon Mort and I had a home there, but I also had a happy home with my grandmothers, so I couldn't complain.
"Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Zira had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but she may have felt that there were still more mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap.
"And thirdly, as a teacher, she would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps she had gained the idea from Professor Beadu, the teacher with whom she was on best terms, who had demonstrated how influential the role of a teacher can play. I do not imagine for an instant that Zira envisaged spending the rest of her life at Dragon Mort, but I do think that she saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where she might begin to build herself an army."
"But she didn't get the job, did she, Ma?" said Sian, sounding uneasy at the thought of Zira teaching at the place we both loved so much.
"No, she did not. Professor Dipper told her that she was too young at eighteen, but invited her to reapply in a few years, if she still wished to teach."
"How did you feel about that, ma'am?" I asked hesitantly.
"Deeply uneasy," said Crighton. "I had advised Amanda against the appointment - I did not give the reasons I have given you two, for Professor Dipper was very fond of Zira and convinced of her honesty - but I did not want Lady Zira back at this school, and especially not in a position of power."
"What job did she want, ma'am? What subject did she want to teach?"
Somehow, I knew the answer even before Crighton gave it.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galen Cheery-Mind, who had been at Dragon Mort for nearly fifty years ...
"So Zira went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired her said what a waste it was, a brilliant young witch like that, working in a shop. However, Zira was no mere assistant. Polite and beautiful and clever, she was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specialises, as you girls know, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Zira was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and she was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."
"I bet she was," I said, unable to contain myself.
"Well, quite," said Crighton, with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from Hiccough the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich wizard by the name of Harta Smith."
Crighton tapped a bottle with her wand, the cork flew out and she tipped the swirling memory into the Pensieve, saying as she did so, "After you, girls."
Sian and I got to our feet and we bent once more over the rippling silver contents of the stone basin until our faces touched them. We tumbled through dark nothingness and landed in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old man wearing a black toupee with a centre parting, a velvet smoking jacket and a monocle that had diamonds along the chain. He was looking into a small mirror as he fixed his toupee on straight, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf I have ever seen laced his fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
"Hurry up, Hiccough!" said Harta imperiously. "She said she'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and she's never been late yet!"
He stopped messing with his toupee as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Harta's chair and his papery skin hung off his frame just like the crisp linen sheet he wore draped like a toga.
"How do I look?" said Harta, turning his head to admire the various angles of his face in the mirror.
"Dashing, sir," squeaked Hiccough.
I could only assume that it was down in Hiccough's contract that he must lie through his teeth when asked this question, because Harta Smith looked a long way from dashing in my opinion.
A tinkling doorbell rang and both master and elf jumped.
"Quick, quick, she's here, Hiccough!" cried Harta and the elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things: there were cabinets full of lacquered boxes, cases full of glass-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes and many flourishing pot plants in brass containers: in fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young woman I had no difficulty whatsoever in recognising as Zira. She was plainly dressed in a black skirt suit; her golden hair was tied back in a high bun and her cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited her: she looked more beautiful than ever. She picked her way through the cramped room with an air that showed she had visited many times before and offered Harta her hand, placing it in Harta's pudgy one. I saw a look of revulsion pass over Zira's face as Harta bent over her hand, but as soon as he looked up again it had gone.
"I brought you the chocolates you like," she said quietly, producing a box of chocolates from nowhere.
"You naughty girl, you shouldn't have!" smirked old Harta, smacking Zira's arm playfully. "You do spoil this old man, Dizra ... sit down, sit down ... where's Hiccough ... ah ..."
The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which he set at his master's elbow.
"Help yourself, Dizra," said Harta, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times ..."
Zira smiled mechanically and Harta simpered.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" he asked, patting Zira's arm gently.
"Mr Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," said Zira. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair - "
"Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" said Harta, looking mockingly offended.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Zira quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, sir, who must do as she is told. Mr Burke wishes me to enquire - "
"Oh, Mr Burke, phooey!" said Harta, waving a large hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr Burke! Can you keep a secret, Dizra? Will you promise you won't tell Mr Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Dizra, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it ..."
"I'd be glad to see anything Mr Harta shows me," said Zira quietly, and Harta chuckled joyfully.
"I had Hiccough bring it out for me ... Hiccough, where are you? I want to show Miss Maliay our finest treasure ... in fact, bring both, while you're at it ..."
"Here, sir," squeaked the house-elf, and I saw two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though I knew the tiny elf was holding them over his head as he wended his way between tables, pouffes and footstools.
"Now," said Harta happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in his lap and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Dizra ... oh, if my family knew I was showing you ... they can't wait to get their hands on this!"
He opened the lid. I edged forwards a little to get a better view and saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles.
"I wonder whether you know what it is, Dizra? Pick it up, have a good look!" whispered Harta, and Zira stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. I thought I saw a red gleam in her bright eyes. Her greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Harta's face, except that his tiny eyes were fixed upon Zira's beautiful features.
"A badger," murmured Zira, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was ...?"
"Bartholomew Badger-Stripes, as you very well know, you clever girl!" said Harta, leaning forwards with a loud creaking of wood and actually pinching her hollow cheek. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess, too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here ..."
He took the cup back off Zira's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Zira's face as the cup was taken away.
"Now then," said Harta happily, "where's Hiccough? Oh yes, there you are - take that away now, Hiccough - "
The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Harta turned his attention to the much flatter box in his lap.
"I think you'll like this even more, Dizra," he whispered, "Lean in a little, dear girl, so you can see ... of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone ..."
He slid back the fine, filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy silver locket.
Zira reached out her hand without invitation this time and held it up to the light, staring at it.
"Snake-Eyes' mark," she said quietly, as the light played upon an ornate, serpentine S.
"That's right!" said Harta, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Zira gazing at his locket, transfixed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not for a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking man who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value - "
There was no mistaking it this time: Zira's eyes flashed scarlet at his words and I saw her knuckles whiten on the locket's chain.
" - I daresay Burke paid him a pittance, but there you are ... pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe ..."
He reached out to take the locket back. For a moment I thought Zira was not going to let go of it, but then it had slid through her fingers and was back on its red velvet cushion.
"So there you are, Dizra, dear, and I hope you enjoyed that!"
He looked her full in the face and, for the first time, I saw his foolish smile falter.
"Are you all right, child?"
"Oh yes," said Zira quietly. "Yes, I'm very well ..."
"I thought - but a trick of the light, I suppose - " said Harta, looking unnerved, and I guessed that he, too, had seen the momentary red gleam in Zira's eyes. "Here, Hiccough, take these away and lock them up again ... the usual enchantments ..."
"Time to leave, girls," said Crighton quietly, and as the little elf bobbed away bearing the boxes, Crighton stood between Sian and I and grasped us both once again above the elbow and the three of us rose up through oblivion and back to Crighton's office.
"Harta Smith died two days after that little scene," said Crighton, resuming her seat and indicating that Sian and I should both do the same. "Hiccough the house-elf was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning his master's evening cocoa by accident."
"No way!" I said angrily.
"How could they?" Sian said furiously, her hands balling into fists.
"I see the three of us are of one mind," said Crighton. "Certainly, there are many similarities between this death and that of the Maliays. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, somebody who had a clear memory of having caused the death - "
"Hiccough confessed?" said Sian, shocked.
"He remembered putting something in his master's cocoa that turned out not to be sugar, but a lethal and little-known poison," said Crighton. "It was concluded that he had not meant to do it, but being old and confused - "
"Zira modified his memory, just like she did with Makasha!" I said.
"Yes, that is my conclusion, too," said Crighton. "And, just as with Makasha, the Ministry were predisposed to suspect Hiccough - "
" - because he was a house-elf," I said. I had rarely felt more in sympathy with the society Sian had set up, H.A.M.E., something she was keen to speak out about once again.
"See, this is exactly why we need to do more for house-elves!" she exclaimed heatedly. "Their standing in society is what's keeping people from seeing them as individuals and not just slaves - "
"Sian, honey," Crighton interrupted her gently, "I would love to discuss elf rights with you right now, really I would, but we have another memory to get through, so could I ask you to put it out of your mind for the time being?"
Sian looked surprised at her mother's words for a moment, then sighed and said humbly, "Of course, Mother." Crighton smiled at her daughter gently before turning back to me.
"So yes, the Ministry suspected Hiccough because he was a house-elf," said Crighton. "He was old, he admitted to having tampered with the drink and nobody at the Ministry bothered to enquire further. As in the case of Makasha, by the time I traced him and managed to extract this memory, his life was almost over - but his memory, of course, proves nothing except that Zira knew of the existence of the cup and the locket.
"By the time Hiccough was convicted, Harta's family had realised that two of his greatest treasures were missing. It took them a while to be sure of this, for he had many hiding places, having always guarded his collection most jealously. But before they were sure beyond doubt that the cup and the locket were both gone, the assistant who had worked at Borgin and Burkes, the young woman who had visited Harta so regularly and charmed him so well, had resigned her post and vanished. Her superiors had no idea where she had gone; they were as surprised as anyone at her disappearance. And that was the last that was seen or heard of Dizra Maliay for a very long time.
"Now then, girls," said Crighton, "if you two don't mind, I want to pause once more to draw your attention to certain points of our story. Zira had committed another murder; whether it was her first since she had killed the Maliays, I do not know, but I think it was. This time, as you both will have seen, she killed not for revenge, but for gain. She wanted the two fabulous trophies that poor, besotted old man showed her. Just as she had once robbed the other children at the orphanage, just as she had stolen her aunt Makasha's ring, so she ran off now with Harta's cup and locket."
"But," I said, frowning, "it seems mad ... risking everything, throwing away her job, just for those ..."
"Mad to you, perhaps, but not to Zira," said Crighton. "I hope you will understand in due course exactly what those objects meant to her, Kiara, but you must admit that it is not difficult to imagine that she saw the locket, at least, as rightfully hers."
"The locket, maybe," I said, "but why take the cup as well?"
"It had belonged to another of Dragon Mort's founders," said Crighton. "I think she still felt a great pull towards the school and that she could not resist an object so steeped in Dragon Mort's history. There were other reasons, I think ... I hope to be able to demonstrate them to you both, in due course.
"And now for the very last recollection I have to show you both, at least until you manage to retrieve Professor Beadu's memory for us, Kiara. Ten years separate Hiccough's memory and this one, ten years during which we can only guess at what Lady Zira was doing ..."
Sian and I got to our feet once more as Crighton emptied the memory into the Pensieve.
"Whose memory is it?" I asked.
"Mine," said Crighton.
And Sian and I both dived after Crighton through the shifting silver mass, landing in the very office we had just left. There was Kenna, slumbering happily on her perch, and there, behind the desk, was Crighton, who looked very similar to the Crighton stood between Sian and I, though both hands were whole and undamaged and her face was, perhaps, a little less lined. There were two differences between the present-day office and this one: the first was that the drawings that Sian and Crighton's other children had sent her and the photographs of her family on her desk weren't there because they had not been born yet, and the second was that it was snowing in the past; bluish flecks were drifting past the window in the dark and building up on the outside ledge.
The younger Crighton seemed to be waiting for something, and sure enough, moments after our arrival, there was a knock on the door and she said, "Enter."
I heard Sian let out a loud gasp at the same time I did when Zira entered the room, and I could not blame her for being shocked at Zira's appearance. Her features were not those I had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron in my fourth year; they were not as snakelike, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet masklike, and yet she was no longer beautiful Dizra Maliay. It was as though her features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of her eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that I knew they would become. She was wearing a long black cloak and her face was as pale as the snow glistening on her shoulders.
The Crighton behind the desk showed no sign of surprise. Evidently this visit had been made by appointment.
"Good evening, Dizra," said Crighton easily. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," said Zira, and she took the seat to which Crighton had gestured - the very seat, by the looks of it, that I had just vacated in the present. "I heard that you had become Headmistress," she said, and her voice was slightly higher and colder than it had been; I felt Sian shudder beside me when she heard it. "A worthy choice."
"I am glad you approve," said Crighton, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"
"That would be welcome," said Zira. "I have come a long way."
Crighton stood up and swept over to the cabinet where she now kept the Pensieve, but which was then full of bottles. Having handed Zira a goblet of wine and poured one for herself, she returned to the seat behind her desk.
"So, Dizra ... to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Zira did not answer at once, but merely sipped her wine.
"They do not call me 'Dizra' any more," she said. "These days, I am known as - "
"I know what you are known as," said Crighton, smiling pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Dizra Maliay. It is one of the things about old teachers, I am afraid, that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."
She raised her glass as though toasting Zira, whose face remained expressionless. Nevertheless, I felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Crighton's refusal to use Zira's chosen names was a refusal to allow Zira to dictate the terms of the meeting, and I could tell that Zira took it as such.
"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Zira after a short pause. "I always wondered why a witch such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," said Crighton, still smiling, "to a witch such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching, too."
"I see it still," said Zira. "I merely wondered why you - who is so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who has twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister - "
"Three times at the last count, actually," said Crighton. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."
Zira inclined her head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine. Crighton did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited, with a look of pleasant expectancy, for Zira to talk first.
"I have returned," she said, after a little while, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dipper expected ... but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what she once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other witch."
Crighton considered Zira over the top of her own goblet for a while before speaking.
"Yes, I certainly know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," she said quietly. "Rumours of your doings have reached your old school, Dizra. I should be sorry to believe half of them."
Zira's face remained impassive as she said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Crighton."
"You call it 'greatness', what you have been doing, do you?" asked Crighton delicately.
"Certainly," said Zira, and her eyes seemed to burn red. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed - "
"Of some kinds of magic," Crighton corrected her quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remain ... forgive me ... woefully ignorant."
For the first time, Zira smiled. It was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.
"The old argument," she said softly. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Crighton."
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," said Crighton.
"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Dragon Mort?" said Zira. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."
Crighton raised her eyebrows.
"And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves - or so rumour has it - the Love Destroyers?"
I could tell that Zira had not expected Crighton to know this name; I saw Zira's eyes flash red again and the slitlike nostrils flare.
"My friends," she said, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."
"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," said Crighton. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."
"You are mistaken," said Zira.
"Then if I were to go to the Dragon's Eye tonight, I would not find a group of them - Nechi, Rotchenberg, Murgia, Dali - awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."
There was no doubt that Crighton's detailed knowledge of those with whom she was travelling was even less welcome to Zira; however, she rallied almost at once.
"You are omniscient as ever, Crighton."
"Oh, no, merely friendly with the local barmaid," said Crighton lightly. "Now, Dizra ..."
Crighton set down her empty glass and drew herself up in her seat, the tips of her fingers together in a very characteristic gesture.
" ... let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"
Zira looked coldly surprised.
"A job I do not want? On the contrary, Crighton, I want it very much."
"Oh, you want to come back to Dragon Mort, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Dizra? Why not try an open request for once?"
Zira sneered.
"If you do not want to give me a job - "
"Of course I don't," said Crighton. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."
Zira stood up. She looked less like Dizra Maliay than ever, her features thick with rage.
"This is your final word?"
"It is," said Crighton, also standing.
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."
"No, nothing," said Crighton, and a great sadness filled her face. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Dizra ... I wish I could ..."
For a second, I was on the verge of shouting a pointless warning: I was sure that Zira's hand had twitched towards her pocket and her wand; but then the moment had passed, Zira had turned away, the door was closing and she was gone.
Crighton's hands had closed over mine and Sian's arms again, and moments later, the three of us were standing together on almost the same spot, but there was no snow on the window-ledge, there were drawings from Crighton's children on the wall and photographs of her family on the desk, and Crighton's hand was blackened and burned-looking once more.
"Why?" I said at once, looking up into Crighton's face. "Why did she come back? Did you ever find out?"
"I have ideas," said Crighton, "but no more than that."
"What ideas, ma'am?"
"I shall tell you, Kiara, when you have retrieved that memory from Professor Beadu," said Crighton. "When you have that last piece of the jigsaw, everything will, I hope, be clear ... to the three of us."
I was still burning with curiosity, and even though Crighton had walked to the door and was holding it open for me, I did not move at once.
"Was she after the Defence Against the Dark Arts job again, ma'am? She didn't say ..."
"Oh, she definitely wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job," said Crighton. "The aftermath of our little meeting proved that. You see, we have never been able to keep a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lady Zira."