The Stumbling Spy

"Miss Horwath! Are you still with us?"

Reluctantly, Elena tore her eyes away from the window and the sight beyond, wet meadows, hills, a forest in the background, and lazy flakes dancing down from a grey-clouded sky. How soothing it was to look at it, the slowly drifting snow, putting her in a dreamy mood. How easy it was to let one's thoughts get carried away, to let them dance and chase one another as the flakes did, and how far it had brought her from the classroom with its desk and, most importantly, Charles Redwood, her Magical Philosophy teacher. He was a medium-height man with thinning red-blonde curls, a pouch and intelligent eyes; he was also American (rumour at the Academy had it that he'd been thrown out of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry due to unorthodox teaching methods) and contrary to most other teachers at this peculiar institution he left an altogether relaxed and open-minded impression. He didn't like people drifting off during his lessons, though, and now examined Elena with an ironically cocked brow.

She sighed. "Sorry, sir, I didn't hear the question."

God, what a drag! Occasionally, she felt like a university student that had been thrown back into kindergarten. She, who was close to getting her literature degree and had studied largely independently for years, was being called to attention again, scolded for being inattentive and – horror of horrors – asked to do homework. The question of what she had gotten herself into came up in her mind almost every day now. At home, her thesis lay untouched. Again, the things she had to do, or should do, were too many to fit into an ordinary day. She caught herself thinking how good it would have been if Severus had really induced Theodore Nott to steal the Time Turner for her. Charming idea of Crowley's, that one. Romantic, even. He clearly didn't know Snape very well.

"I am interested in your definition of magic from a philosophical point of view", Redwood informed her with a frown on his face. "Your home assignment, remember?"

No, she didn't remember. However, the advantage of studying literature was certainly that you could rattle off some halfway sophisticated-sounding crap at any time. Elena turned an impassive face on Redwood – she had learnt how to do that from the master – and informed him that "I like to take a modern point of view on this."

At the back of the classroom, someone sniggered.

"Could you elaborate a little, Miss Horwath?" Redwood asked with a small wink at the corner of his eye.

Elena took a deep breath, preparing to be bolshy. "I must admit I'm not very impressed with the 'gift-from-God' theory. In my mind, that's an arrogant and entitled attitude and it doesn't accord at all with 20th century findings in natural science. – Take quantum mechanics, for instance. In my opinion, it's the best explanation for magic that anyone has come up with so far."

"Quantum physics?" Redwood repeated, doubtfully but not without interest. "Have you studied it, Miss Horwath?"

"Naah", a voice roared up, "she's just trying to prove that even Muggles are on to something. Some might call that self-deception."

Elena turned sharply and glowered. A blond and burly wizard was grinning at her broadly. She didn't remember his name; in fact, she made a point not to because she hated him so much. A pure-blood boy so stupid (or lazy, or entitled, or all of it) he hadn't made it through Hogwarts and the Crowley Academy was now his parents' only hope, for which they very likely spent a lot of Galleons. He reminded her of Arcadius Selwyn, a student of Snape's she'd had a run-in with.

"Please, Mr Rowle, it's Miss Horwath's turn", Redwood smoothened the waves. "Miss Horwath, this is interesting. Where exactly do you see the points of intersection between magic and quantum physics?"

It was an old idea. She had already explained it in depth to Severus – who'd grudgingly admitted that she 'might have something there' – and now spun it off in class. The conclusion Elena arrived at was that magic wasn't an elitist thing, not a gift from God (the preferred theory of the wizarding world), but could theoretically be tapped into by anyone provided they learnt how to purposefully direct energy. Of course, she had no illusions as to the reactions. Scoffs and sniggers all around. Witches and wizards were so invested in the notion that they were special that they hated to let go of it.

Redwood followed the ensuing discussion – which Elena didn't join in, she just listened, rolling her eyes – with distinct amusement, but let it run its course in the expected direction. The consensus was that quantum physics had no place in the magical world. It was a Muggle eccentricity, only worth to be disregarded. By the end of it, Elena blew up her cheeks in frustration, but that was the moment when the shrill sound of a bell announced the end of the lesson and the start of lunch break. She gathered up her things and left the classroom as quickly as she could.

The corridors of the Academy were clean and spacious, its charm nowhere as medieval as Hogwarts. In fact, it was a nice place, only Elena wasn't able to really see that. To her, the walls were too close for comfort; the sound of her own steps reverberated on the stone floor and made her want to constantly check over her shoulder. When she'd taken on this assignment for the Order, she hadn't expected how lonely it was going to make her feel and how endlessly on edge. She needed a break and hurried towards the gardens.

They had become her safe haven. She found herself a corner with a frosted stone bench and wrapped herself up in her cloak (the one Severus had given her) as a salty wind from the sea blew sharply into her face. She took out a book on Arithmancy and tried to concentrate – Elena found the subject unbearably hard – but her thoughts drifted off, drifted North, towards Scotland, towards Severus. And in spite of herself, the thought made her smile.

The night they had spent at the Malfoys' was almost two weeks past by now, but the feeling, the glow of it was still inside of her. The way he'd held her, buried his face in her hair, eagerly inhaling her scent … nothing in the world could have persuaded her now that he didn't care for her, not even his coldest demeanour. She'd felt his need, specifically the need for tenderness, closeness. She had also felt his desire and why he hadn't acted upon it had been a little difficult to understand for her, but she was developing a theory for that, too. Maybe things had gone too quickly for him that first time; maybe he wanted to make up for all the steps they had left out before their first, well, tumble. Maybe it was some kind of wizarding concept about how to suitably woo someone (they were more prudish and old-fashioned than Muggles, there could be no doubt about that). Whatever it was, it was alright with her. Elena had never been so certain of his affections. He would come around eventually. In fact, he was coming around.

The blissful thrill of this realization made everything else bearable for her. The non-too-subtle pure-blood vibe of the Academy, the fact that everyone constantly sneered at her extremely short career as a witch and her 'Mugglish' appearance. The constant feeling of apprehension caused, of course, by the knowledge that she was here as a spy and not by way of an honest pursuit, and her fear that others might read it off her face, that she might give herself away. The loneliness she suffered. It was about time she got Draco into the Academy …

With a sigh, she forced herself to focus on the book. It was the upshot of her spying venture that being here wasn't enough, no, she had to play the eager student, too; in fact, it was by far the better strategy not to generate undue attention by bad grades. So she had to study. Rows of numbers, vertical and horizontal cross sums, the principle each number was governed by and all kinds of complicated operations to finally arrive at the result which was invariably magic. She was able to see the beauty and order of the arithmantic process, but the rigidity of the method frustrated her. It certainly wasn't an intuitive way of doing magic, and that was the reason why soon enough her thoughts drifted off again.

She remembered Severus' account of his conversation with Aeneas Crowley and his request that she do what she could to find out more about the man. The problem was that she didn't know where to start. She had met Crowley only once, in the previous week, when he had joined his wife who had been making polite small talk to Elena. He had no more than nodded to her; it was doubtful whether he had even realized she existed. Not that this was a problem. The less note he took of her, the better. But how on earth was she to get close to him?

Trying to concentrate was futile. Her eyes were only scanning the pages, but none of the contents made it across the barrier into her consciousness. She got up, clamped the book under her arm and walked around aimlessly in the gardens. Those were at the back of Abrasax House, a space enclosed by a withered brick wall and sporting a romantic green-and-brown chaos, even at this time of year. It was easy to hide among the shrubs and overhanging branches, to find a private corner, which was exactly the reason she liked to come here. However, it began to dawn on her that the job of spy wasn't exactly about retreating; in fact, it was about mingling, talking to people, sounding them out. Not for the first time, she wondered how Severus had pulled it off, considering that he wasn't the world's greatest conversationalist.

She made herself walk around as if she saw the gardens for the first time. It was another thing that Severus had taught her: looking at a place and getting used to it ensured that you didn't notice the details anymore because your mind was convinced that there was nothing new to discover. Making yourself look at a place as if for the first time was a matter of attitude, of freeing one's perception of expectations; it wasn't so different from the little mind tricks he and Draco had taught Elena for Occlumency.

She walked the length of the brick wall. She heard voices, stopped, listened. A couple of students was hiding under the overhanging branches of a willow tree, kissing. Elena smiled and crept on, doing a little detour. It sent her deep into the shrubs that pressed against the low wall, but there was a path, trampled-down thickets, flat soggy grass. She followed it and stumbled over a narrow fissure in the reddish bricks and a gate. Curiously, she pushed down the handle; there was a screech and the iron-wrought gate swung back.

The path led down a drop of worn and crumbling steps between wet weeds and roots, and Elena found herself in a small cemetery. It was an ordinary graveyard, not too groomed, but not completely neglected either. Flowers were freezing to death on the graves while the weeds grew, confident that they would not be disturbed any time soon. High hedges surrounded the graveyard, it was completely hidden from view. Hence, it was no miracle she had never stumbled upon it.

'A secret cemetery', Elena thought, 'but is it secret?' She walked along the lines of tombstones, some of which were withered, the writing faint or illegible. She tried to read them anyway, especially the dates. Cemeteries weren't morbid places to her and within the academy's grounds, she felt oddly at ease in the company of the dead. Slowly relaxing, she strolled between the graves – only to get a horrible shock when one of the tombstones started to move.

"Stephen! You gave me such a fright!"

Stephen Periwinkle straightened himself up and for a moment he stood a little shakily, peering at her from under a shock of black hair that had fallen into his face. Long sensitive fingers cramped around a sketchbook. "I … I'm sorry", he stammered.

In fact, he seemed immensely chagrined. Elena saw that she had thrown him off with her reaction much more than his sudden appearance had shocked her. "Don't worry", she murmured, "I just … didn't see you there. What were you doing, anyway?"

He hadn't quite recovered yet. With a twitching hand, he raised the sketchbook. Elena discerned some lines, then looked into the direction that Stephen had been facing. She saw that he'd been trying to sketch one of the graves, a rather small stone, but made of white marble with mossy patches. The writing on it was faint, but Elena didn't take the time to examine it as Stephen was still fidgeting nervously and she wanted to put him at ease. She also wanted to ask him why he was drawing this specific grave – which seemed to ordinary compared to some others – but her instinct told her that the question might upset him even more.

"Don't you have classes?" she asked instead, gently.

He only shook his head, large dark eyes staring at her from out of a pale face.

Something occurred to Elena and she narrowed her eyes. "Do you have classes at all?"

Stephen carefully observed her face for a while, still wary. After what seemed like an awfully long time, he shook his head.

"No? Then what are you doing here?"

"My father wishes me to be here", Stephen replied flatly.

"Why?"

"So that I cannot do any harm."

Elena closed her eyes, sighed. "I'm sorry", she said.

"I do receive tutoring", Stephen volunteered. "Kind of."

"What do you mean, kind of?"

The chocolate-coloured eyes evaded her. He twitched once more, and in that he reminded Elena very much of Severus. They were similar types, pale skin and very dark hair, thin but stringy with not an ounce of excessive fat on them, brainy and often nervous. Maybe Stephen was more delicate, but he was also quite a bit younger. Usually, Elena rejected the idea of having 'a type'. There was no denying, however, that something about the 'dark lost boy' invariably got to her. She watched as Stephen started to rummage in the pockets of his rather shabby brown robe and brought out a book. "I'm reading it", he announced, giving her an unexpected shy smile.

Elena saw well enough that he was trying to distract her. Nonetheless, she couldn't help smiling. "How do you like it?"

Stephen nodded to indicate his approval; Elena felt pleased. She had given him the book the week before; 'I, Claudius' by Robert Graves. It had been a spontaneous idea and she still remembered the look of astonishment on his face when she had presented him with it. Normally, it was hard to read emotion off Stephen's face; his obvious pleasure on receiving a gift had surprised her. "There are Sybils in there", he said now.

Elena wondered about the remark. It wasn't in Stephen nature to comment on the obvious unless he meant something by it. "I like that scene, too", she said, probing, "when he gets that prophecy from the Sybil."

"It is very well described", Stephen agreed, "I didn't know Muggles knew this."

"Graves was a historian", Elena explained, "a very learned man."

But it obviously wasn't what Stephen had meant because he became twitchy again. Not being understood upset him, but he didn't seem to be able to come up with the right words just now. "The Sybils", he mumbled eventually.

"Yes?"

"The Sybils. They are powerful. But their power doesn't belong to themselves."

Elena frowned. "You mean … they are used? Ab-used?"

Stephen seemed undecided, he teetered on the spot. "Prophecies … exceed the individual."

She had to think about this before she could make out a meaning. "You mean they work for the greater good? Sacrifice themselves?"

Stephen's mouth worked. He still hadn't arrived at what he really wanted to say. "Giving and taking prophecies is a sacred process", he murmured eventually. "The Sybil is a sacred transmitter. Her message is sacred. But … the whole thing collapses if the recipient … isn't."

"Isn't sacred, you mean?"

A grave nod replied. Elena was by now quite convinced that he was telling her something important, that he might even be hoping that – due to the fact that she'd given him this specific book – she would know his mind. It wasn't quite as easy, though. And now Stephen Periwinkle appeared to be becoming nervous. Several times he turned over his shoulder, twitched.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Elena asked bluntly.

He shook his head. "It's this place. We are not supposed to be here."

"This place?" she repeated. "Do you mean this cemetery? Or the Academy as a whole?"

"Both", grunted Stephen.

Elena saw that his jaw was locked. All of a sudden, he did something very unexpected, something that – as Elena was able to guess – cost him a lot. He reached out and touched her. In fact, and to her utter astonishment, he grabbed her elbow quite firmly (that, too, reminded her of Severus) and led her away in the direction of the low brick wall. A large tomb nestled against it; it was by far the largest grave in the cemetery, built in the shape of a tiny chapel. In any case, the tomb was high enough to hide an adult, and Stephen dragged her behind it.

"What are you doing?" Elena demanded, confused. This action was certainly out of character, and she couldn't help thinking that Stephen Periwinkle wouldn't do this unless he had a very good reason.

However, he only shushed her, putting a finger up to his mouth and looking quite fierce. They were huddled together behind the tomb, their feet in the shrubs and it was an altogether awkward situation that only began to make sense when Stephen gave Elena a meaningful look and pointed. Peeking around the edge of the tomb, Elena saw what he meant. A figure had entered the cemetery from the other side, slender and elegant, a veil of black curls falling over a slim back. Elena recognized the figure immediately. It was Magrathea Crowley.

Elena looked over her shoulder at Stephen. His glance was still meaningful and told her 'Just watch'. So watch she did as Magrathea Crowley walked slowly and with an expression of concentration between the graves and under the cloudy December sky overhead while singular white flakes were settling in her dark hair. She appeared to be looking for something; her eyes were carefully scanning the ground and the oblong stones that seemed to be sprouting from it. Then she stopped, knelt down. Elena couldn't see her anymore as the woman was now hidden by hedges and graves.

"Why are we hiding?" Elena whispered to Stephen.

"No trespassers", he growled back.

"But we go to school here!"

"There are signs all over the walls. No trespassers", Stephen insisted doggedly.

"Then what were you doing here?"

Again, he shushed her and pointed. Elena turned in the indicated direction and her eyes became wide. Magrathea Crowley had gotten up, but she wasn't alone anymore. Beside her, as if materialized out of thin air or – rather – as if he had just shot out of the ground, her husband Aeneas Crowley stood by her side. They faced each other, only a few inches between their heads, and talked in hushed voices. Only they didn't really talk. The longer Elena watched, the more she was certain that this was an argument. What she and Stephen were witnessing was a suppressed marital fight.

"Where did he come from?" she whispered to Stephen.

Stephen replied by way of a shrug. His handsome face looked shrewd.

"Apparated, probably", Elena answered her own question.

Stephen shook his head. "You can't Apparate on these grounds", he mumbled.

"Seriously?"

"Like Hogwarts. Or the Ministry. In crowded places, Apparition is usually banned."

"Then where did he …" She broke of, because fragments of the fight made it over to their hiding place. – "… cannot do this … too cruel … no pity?" – "… point in being sentimental … your idea … see it through …" – "… wouldn't be shocked at all, would you? This … nature … petty jealousy …" – "… greater things at stake …" – No matter how much Elena strained her ears, she could understand no more than fragments and the only information she could glean from this occurrence was the fact that there was obviously some sort of marital discord in the Crowley family. Which was interesting. But it probably meant nothing. Was there such a thing as a marriage without fighting? In her hiding place, Elena couldn't help sneering a bit. She was – and had always been – extremely sceptical where the institution of marriage was concerned. She hardly ever asked herself where this bleak view came from, but preferred to throw her favourite quote by Marcel Proust into people's faces, the one saying that people getting married was a sure sign of their love coming to an end. She certainly didn't believe in the whole thing, considered it an empty form with no content, maybe even the opposite of love. What she was observing right now confirmed her pessimism and gave her a feeling of grim satisfaction.

Suddenly, Aeneas Crowley was gone. Gone as quickly as he had appeared. To Elena it seemed as if he had bent down to tie a shoelace, but about three seconds later Magrathea Crowley was alone in the graveyard, continuing her lonesome procession among the tombs, and the presence of her husband seemed rather like a hallucination.

Once Magrathea was out of sight, Stephen lightly touched Elena's elbow. "Let's go", he murmured.

"Where did he go?" she hissed.

"Think", was Stephen's terse reply. He took the lead, finding a path through the shrubs to the nearest gate that would take them back to the gardens behind Abrasax House.

"Do you know where he came from?" Elena hissed after him.

But Stephen only smiled, obviously determined to let her do her own thinking. They approached the small gate through which Elena had come. Stephen knew no gallantry and went first. When Elena followed and drew the gate shut, it issued a loud and pitiful screech. They both froze, she and Stephen, glued to the spot. When nothing happened, they walked on cautiously.

"Miss Horwath?!"

Elena froze at the shrill ring of the voice, sighed and turned around, but not before catching the look on Stephen's face which was tortured, almost desperate.

Her long skirt gathered in one hand and with determined strides, Magrathea Crowley came up from the cemetery. There was a deep line on her forehead. Elena knew that the encounter wasn't going to be pleasant. She wondered whether the woman had hidden herself somewhere, for she could have sworn that she had gone. Now, however, she was very much present and fixed Elena in her stare before her eyes swerved at Stephen. There was a look of astonishment; clearly, Magrathea Crowley hadn't seen him before.

"Stephen!" Again, her voice sounded shrill. "Now why am I not surprised?! How many times have I told you that this cemetery is off limits? Remember how I explained to you? 'The cemetery is our Forbidden Forest!' I am very, very disappointed in you, Stephen!"

She was a formidable presence, her blue eyes flashing, one immensely pissed-off ladyship. For a few moments, Elena felt cowed as she watched Stephen being lectured like a recalcitrant child. He behaved like one, too, stood there with shoulders hunched and stared onto the ground. It was obvious that he was afraid of Magrathea.

"It's not his fault", Elena said as evenly as she could, "I went in there. Stephen only came to get me out."

The flashing blue eyes shifted from Stephen to Elena. "This is a family cemetery, Miss Horwath", Magrathea said with a chill in her voice, "and in order to ensure the Crowley family's eternal rest, my husband and I politely ask students to keep out; however, to no avail, as it seems!"

"I didn't know", Elena murmured.

"There are signs all over!"

"Not when you come in from the gardens, there aren't", Elena insisted.

Something changed in Magrathea's posture, it was a little as if she was deflating. Her beautiful features became smoother and she forced a smile to her lips. "Well, if that is so I must remember to correct this omission."

"I suggest you do that", Elena said, feigning hurt pride, "instead of telling off those who are least to blame!"

The forced smile on Madam Crowley's lips got a nasty touch. She looked back and forth between Elena and Stephen, then inclined her head mockingly. "My bad", she sneered, "I must apologize, Stephen. – Yes, you heard right, you're off the hook!"

Elena couldn't turn her head as quickly as Stephen was gone. He just took off with a slightly stumbling gait and his shoulders still hunched, both evidence of his state of mind. And although Elena resented it a little that he left her alone with this harpy, she couldn't really blame him, either. This was simply too much for him; he needed solitude to straighten himself out.

"You've upset him", she said coolly to Magrathea.

"Have I now", Madam Crowley replied indifferently. "You know, Miss Horwath, it's not as if I haven't caught him in this cemetery at least ten times …"

"Well, but this time …"

"I get your point. All the same, I wasn't bearing down on an innocent. Stephen Periwinkle has a way of always doing exactly as he pleases. He is a most difficult young man."

Elena didn't know what to say. Intuitively, she wanted to defend Stephen, but an inner voice warned her not to let Magrathea see too clearly what was in her heart, so she ended up saying nothing.

"How did you like the cemetery?" Magrathea asked with a sardonic undertone.

"I didn't see much", Elena half-lied, "before Stephen turned up and …"

"I see", Magrathea interrupted sharply, then she tilted her head. "You have a habit of picking up troubled men, don't you?"

Impulse was a bloody bitch. Elena felt her anger flaring up like a geyser; heat came to her face. The effort she made to suppress all this was immense. She forced herself to breath calmly and to tame her anger by focussing on how she could best use this situation. "It's a pattern I'm trying to break", she murmured eventually.

Magrathea scrutinized her face. Her smile became softer and finally she said "So I've heard."

Elena thought it a good idea to stare onto the ground.

"I must say I was surprised", Magrathea went on, "I should have thought that Mr Malfoy is a tad young for you."

Elena bit the inside of her lower lip. 'Gotcha', she thought. Draco's and her little scheme had been duly noted and was making the rounds; people were swallowing it. Now she only had to play it right … "That's what I thought, too, at first. However, when you're really getting on, it doesn't …"

"I agree", Madam Crowley interrupted her with a fierce nod, "age means nothing. Nothing at all."

Elena wondered what was behind the grim finality of this statement. "I was surprised myself", she said as if intimating something very personal.

"He is certainly a very strapping young man", Magrathea said with an amused glimmer in her eyes, "you've probably made a number of young ladies very furious …"

"Not only them", Elena said, because the opportunity was simply too good.

"Oh, I see", another sneer on Lady Crowley's beautiful face. "Well, I'm not surprised. A man like Severus Snape wouldn't let a girl like you out of his clutches that easily. It appears to me that he likes to fish in waters that are really too deep for him."

Gosh, she wanted to scratch the woman's eyes out for that remark! Breathing evenly became an immense effort, standing still an exercise of will. "I wouldn't know", she said demurely.

"And you needn't concern yourself with it. You're here with us now and we're glad to have you. You are aware, of course, that most of our students have to pay a fee? Whereas you don't …"

It was hard to keep a straight face. Why did Magrathea have to remind her of that? So that she would be grateful and comply with anything? "I very much appreciate what you are doing for me", Elena said and tried to sound bright.

But Madam Crowley wanted to make a little more of her generosity. "You may have guessed by now that we charge according to existing talent. A considerable number of witches and wizards who come here are no more than squibs; getting them to perform acceptable magic is, of course, difficult and hence costly."

Elena thought of Rowle, her classmate. His family must surely pay a fortune …

"In the case of someone such as you, however", Magrathea went on, "we consider it our privilege to develop your abilities. Talent should not be sacrificed for money issues."

"A noble stance", Elena commented, "but maybe you're overestimating me."

Magrathea smiled vaguely. "I'm not. After all, that is what we have Stephen for. The magic he has is quite unique, difficult though he may be."

"I guess he's just different", murmured Elena.

"Yes, he is. And it is kind of you to take an interest. I should warn you, however. It might not be a good idea to become his friend."

"Why?" Elena asked with knit brows.

Magrathea shrugged nonchalantly. "You might not be able to get rid of him anymore."

Again, Elena forced herself to breath evenly. Not for the first time she told herself that she wasn't made for the job of spy. She was way too emotional, ever in danger of bursting out with her innermost feelings, and this was worst when people were concerned that she cared about. However, Severus had equipped her even for that. "Whenever someone really gets to you", he had said, "remember that they might be testing you, that they might be probing for your weak spot. The moment they have you rattled, they've got it." – Give up her weak spot to Magrathea Crowley? No bloody way! And Severus had told her another, very simple thing: "If you don't like the conversation, change it." Imperceptibly, Elena straightened her back. "My friend, Mr Malfoy", she started, casting down her eyes in mock-modesty, "is very impressed with what I've learnt here."

"Is he now?"

"He said he's never seen such quick results, not even at Hogwarts."

"That's good to hear." It didn't sound very impressed, though. In fact, Elena sensed that Magrathea was retreating.

"He told me that he's very … interested in the process employed here at the academy."

"Yes. That is true for a lot of people."

Elena struggled for words. "He'd give a lot to … see it …"

Magrathea Crowley smiled, radiantly and falsely at the same time. "I'm not surprised, Miss Horwath. A lot of witches and wizards would like to familiarize themselves with our process. However, as you know, we're very selective about that."

"I do know", Elena hastened to assure her. "I also know that the Malfoys are a very respected family in the wizarding world. They might … help, you know."

"Help?" Magrathea gave her another dazzling smile. "What makes you think that we need help?"

"Doesn't every teaching institution need help?"

"Certainly. But then, we're selective about that, too."

Elena didn't know what more to say. So this had been her honest effort to bring Draco into the mix; and how clumsily and stupidly she'd gone about it! Magrathea hadn't even been interested! Elena groaned inwardly. She really should have planned this a little better than merely following her gut feeling.

Magrathea Crowley's lips made a little moue. "We will be having a little party here before Christmas for which we shall open our doors to guests for an evening. If you wish, I can put your young beau on the guest list."

Elena made herself smile. "That'd be nice."

"Duly noted. – But shouldn't you be back in class now?"

Elena's eyes flew up to the bell tower and she breathed with relief realizing that it was in fact high time to go. The presence of Magrathea Crowley made her skin crawl and she couldn't wait to get away.

"Charles Redwood's talking very highly about you, by the way", Magrathea chirped. "He says that your thinking is very … original."

'Very Mugglish, he means', Elena thought, but smiled meekly. "That's good to hear. – If you'll excuse me now …"

Elena had already turned and was dying to get away; as a result, a jolt went through her when Magrathea called her back. "Just one thing, Miss Horwath …"

"Yes?"

"You remember the time when you visited me over at the Manor, with your charming friend – what was her name?"

Elena gave Cassie's name with a catch in her throat.

"Do you remember how I talked to you about Madam Snape then? – You haven't ever met her, have you?"

"I have. Briefly."

"And?" The blue eyes were hard now, examining her as if she was an experimental specimen.

"And – what?"

"What was your impression?"

Elena shrugged. "Another pure-blood bitch refusing to talk to the likes of me."

Magrathea fidgeted a little, no doubt at the expression 'pure-blood bitch'. "I see. Not a successful encounter then."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course. – But she still … lives with him, doesn't she? With her son?"

"I have no idea."

"You don't? I thought you lived just across the street?"

"I spend most of my time here at the academy. Or with Draco. When I'm home I study and don't have much time to gawk out of the window."

Magrathea studied Elena's face for a while. "I understand", she said eventually, but it wasn't entirely clear what exactly she understood. "Well. Don't let me keep you any longer, Miss Horwath. You have to fly now."

Elena hardly waited for Magrathea to give her a queenly nod before she took off and ran through the gardens. However, it didn't occur to her to re-enter Abrasax House. She was looking for Stephen Periwinkle, sure that he was hiding somewhere. Elena had a few ideas about what an ideal hiding place would look like for Stephen; however, no matter how much she looked, she couldn't find him. She even called him, cooing softly into the dark corners of the garden as if she was trying to coax a kitten out of its hiding place. No reply. And yet, all the time while she was looking, she had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. It made her hair stand on edge and was probably a precursor of paranoia which appeared to be the inevitable result of spy work (and explained a lot to her about Severus' psyche). As she was running out of time, anyway, she hunched her shoulders and hurried back into Abrasax House.

In the end, Stephen found her.

By the end of classes, it was already dark outside. Elena had packed up her stuff as quickly as she could and was waiting outside for the carriages that would take the students back to Diagon Alley, from where they were free to depart in whatever direction by Apparition; it was a service the academy provided as a matter of course. A couple of students were queuing in front of her, so she switched off her mind while she waited for her turn. Inevitably, her thoughts wandered to Severus. Was there any way she could lure him out of Hogwarts tonight? Write him an owl, maybe, allude to the strange conversation she'd had with Magrathea, dramatize things a little and ask for a meeting in 'little gnat'? She loved those; they allowed her to be close to him, to bask in his presence in a confined space. However, there was really no reason; nothing had happened that she couldn't tell him at the weekend just as well. Plus, he would resent it to be summoned without cause. Then again, Elena imagined how she would bat her eyes at him and tell him that she'd missed him. She had a feeling that it might be just about enough to soften him up. At the same time, she was a little hesitant to risk it …

A whistle pulled her out of her reverie. There were still about ten people queuing in front of her, several more behind her and the whistle might have come from any of them, it might not even have been directed at her. When she turned over her shoulder, however, it came back. A five-note whistle, a dactyl and a trochee, and for some reason she had the uncanny feeling that it spelt her name, 'É-le-na Hór-wath'. She tried to look around as inconspicuously as she could and thought she sensed a movement in the shadowy arcades at the front of Abrasax House.

Elena made a little show of rummaging in her bag, then issued a string of swear words while she stepped out of the queue.

"Forgot something?" the girl behind her asked kindly.

Elena rolled her eyes. "It's always the same, I'm such a slob …"

She hurried towards Abrasax House, but took a swerve at the last moment and dove into the shadows, walking a small distance along the front of the house. Stephen Periwinkle was waiting for her, leaning against the wall. His earlier nervousness was gone, he looked as cool as a cucumber.

"You're a good liar", he welcomed her without pretext, "a really good liar. I could never lie like that. But you are really good."

"Am I?" She didn't quite know where this was coming from.

"You lied for me", Stephen reminded her, "to that woman."

"Oh, that." She waved it away. "You know, she seemed so touchy about her blasted cemetery …"

"You told a lie as if it was the truth."

Elena couldn't quite decide if this was praise or reproach. "It was a white lie, Stephen. I knew she wouldn't be as mad with me as she would be with you. I'm the newbie here, so my chances at being forgiven are fairer."

"I could never lie like that", Stephen informed her.

Elena was struggling for words to defend herself. "I know it's not right. One shouldn't lie. But sometimes …"

"Did you lie for me because I am your friend?"

The question was blunt and rendered with an intense stare. Elena looked Stephen in the eyes. "Yes", she said, "I consider you my friend. And you lied for me, too, remember?"

Stephen shook his head. "I didn't lie. I just didn't tell. And I won't. Tell. I cannot lie, but I don't tell on my friends. Never."

Elena smiled at him and mouthed a 'Thank you'.

"I don't like that woman", Stephen went on seamlessly.

"Nor do I. – What do you think she was doing in the cemetery?"

"It is the Crowley family cemetery. She has every right to be there."

"Sure. But then, why is she so touchy about anyone going in there?"

"I told you. There are a lot of secrets."

Elena examined his shadowed handsome face for a while. "How do you think Aeneas Crowley managed to just … appear there? I can't get my head around it. If Apparition is not possible …"

"It is entirely banned on the grounds."

"Then how …"

"He came through one of the graves. The one I was drawing."

"What?"

"He came through one of the graves", Stephen repeated monotonously.

"I heard you. – But what does it mean? Through the grave?"

Stephen gave her a look as if she was a little bit obtuse. "Well, obviously there is a secret passage."

"A secret passage?"

"This place is full of secrets."

"Do you know this for a fact? About the passage?"

Stephen Periwinkle hesitated a little before giving her a cautious nod. Elena scrutinized him carefully, and she couldn't do it without a degree of amusement. "You've got this place totally sussed out, haven't you?"

A rare smile appeared on Stephen's face although he said nothing.

"So I'm sure you know where that passage leads to?"

He nodded, and the smile became a little mischievous.

Elena waited a few seconds before asking the next crucial question. "Will you show me?"

Stephen, too, waited before the replied; he scrutinized her face. Then he said, "I would show a friend."

"I am your friend", Elena said and it felt entirely sincere.

"A friend with secrets", Stephen said, "and a friend who knows how to lie."

"I don't lie to my friends."

"One shouldn't lie to one's friends", Stephen commented, "but friends should share their secrets."

"I think so, too", she said warmly, but then her face became serious. "There's one thing I should probably tell you", she mused, feeling insecure. "Just so that you don't … misunderstand me. – There is someone … a man … who means a lot to me. To be quite honest, I'm head over heels in love with him."

There was a faint look of astonishment on Stephen's face; it was clear that he didn't get the relevance of what she was telling him and Elena breathed with relief. She saw now that she was the one who had misunderstood, and that she had allowed Magrathea's 'warning' – "you might not be able to get rid of him" – to mislead her. "I just thought … that you should know …", she stammered.

"But I do know", Stephen said with a shrug.

Elena stared. So he, too, had heard about her involvement with Draco? "Oh …", she issued, feeling uncomfortable.

"I've seen you, remember?"

Again, she stared; opened her mouth, closed it again. Only after a while she dared a weak, "So you've seen that, too?"

"I saw the sentiment. Not the person it refers to."

Elena had sensed all along that there was more to Stephen than met the eye. Now she was certain. He might be considered an idiot and dimwit by a lot of people, but Elena saw how Stephen might even welcome this attitude because it ensured that he was mostly left alone and free to pursue his interests. He was resourceful, and over the years he had found a way of getting back at the world that treated him so poorly. He might not be able to lie, but he certainly knew how to keep the odd ace up his sleeve. The fact that people didn't see how smart he was had become the axis on which he operated and exacted his subtle revenge.

"Alright", Elena said suggestively, "so you know another one of my secrets. Very clever. – Anything else that you know?"

Another vague grin. "I know that you're not here for learning."

She stifled a groan. Was it that obvious? But then she realized that it probably wasn't obvious to anyone but Stephen Periwinkle. She recovered and said, "Well, you're exactly right. – But, Stephen! No one must know this!"

"I'm not stupid", he said with dignity.

"I never said you were", Elena pointed out. "But you must know that this is a huge secret. No one must find out or I'll get into real trouble!"

"Oh yes, you will. But I won't tell."

"What are you going to do when somebody asks you? If you're asked for an opinion on me?"

"Nobody is interested in my opinion", Stephen said reasonably, "but if they ask I will say that you're very clearly a Muggle-born."

It made her sputter with laughter. Of course, that she was clearly a Muggle-born was the complete truth, but the comment also had the merit of ending any discussion as for most witches and wizards it was an obvious dismissal. "Alright", Elena said after she'd calmed down, "so you know another one of my secrets."

"And I'm going to tell you one of mine", Stephen promised. There was an eagerness in his voice. He was really dying to share what he knew with someone that he could trust.

"When?"

"Soon." Stephen pushed himself away from the façade. "I have to find a good time to do it. And it's got to be at night. You'll have to stay behind."

"I'll figure something out", she promised.

"Good. – But now you have to go. They're down to the last carriage."

"What about you? Don't you go back with them?"

Stephen shook his head. "No. I'm doomed to stay here permanently."

"Why?" She frowned.

"My father doesn't want me at home. He says I upset him."

Again, she felt painfully what his life must be like; lonely; isolated. "I met your father", she told him, "just once. To be quite honest with you, I didn't like him much."

She had said it to comfort him, but once again Stephen surprised her. "My father is a good man. Deep down. It's just … over time a lot of things have come in the way. Piling up on the goodness."

'Whatever that means', Elena thought sarcastically, but she was glad that Stephen had obviously found a way to deal with his father emotionally, that he saw him as a flawed person, even had pity on the man.

There was a call from the front yard, announcing the departure of the last carriage. Frantically, Elena gathered up her stuff and mumbled a quick "Good night" in Stephen's direction. However, she found that he had already turned and was now walking away into the nightly shadows. So she took off, ran as fast as she could and was only just in time before the Hippogriffs spread their wings to fly away. The carriage was full, but she managed to squeeze in on one of the cushioned benches, completely ignoring the glares of her fellow students.

Elena felt light, excited. Going into the academy didn't feel useless anymore. She was going to find out at least some of its secrets and, what was more, she had an ally. During the ride, she thought about what she was going to find out. Secret underground passages, originating from a grave … it was enough to make her shudder. However, there was another realization that heightened her excitement even more; because the way she saw it, there was now a valid reason to ask Severus for a meeting. And if she was lucky, it would be tonight ….

Sorry folks for the long wait, have been a little 'under the weather' (love that expression!). Hope I haven't lost you …