(A/N) It should be noted that this chapter involves some American wizardry, and was written before J.K. gave us info about Ilvermony. After much deliberation, I will not be editing the chapter to conform. Just consider my story a little extra AU, if you will.
Chapter 36. The Sun Sets
The students arriving from the Easter holidays were not exactly welcomed back with open arms. In fact, everyone who had gone home for the holidays had been sitting in the school carriages outside the school gates for what was now near an hour.
"This is really odd," Derek said, peering out of the carriage window. "Why has no one opened the gates?" Romilda and Clara had met up with him at Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
They were sharing the carriage with three fifth year Ravenclaws, who were largely ignoring them.
"We'll miss the feast if they don't let us in soon," Romilda grumbled. She got grumpy when she was hungry.
"They'll let us in," Clara said confidently. All along the short line of carriages, heads were poking out of the windows, looking up at the school.
"What if You-Know-Who attacks us out here?" said one fretful fifth year girl.
"Shut up, Marietta, that's not going to happen," said her friend.
"But it could," said the first girl.
Clara exchanged semi-tolerant glances with Romilda and Derek.
"Why do you think they haven't let us in?" Romilda muttered.
"I dunno," Clara said. "Like Derek said, it's weird. It's never taken this long before."
As if by magic, as she said this, the carriages began to move. Derek peered out of the carriage again, his head sticking out so he could crane up the line of carriages and see who had let them in.
"It's Snape," he said.
"Easton! Put your head back inside the carriage where it belongs before I curse it off!" snapped a voice darkly from outside.
Derek pulled his head inside the carriage, flushing red.
"Yep," Romilda said airily. "Definitely Snape."
The carriages pulled up to the castle door. The trio disembarked, grabbing their belongings, and filed toward the castle. Romilda gave their thestral a pat on the shoulder in thanks and received an affectionate nip in return.
"It is so freaky when you do that, 'Mil," Derek said. "Like you're petting empty space."
"I think they're cool," Romilda defended.
"I just wish I could see them, too," Derek said.
"Really?" Clara asked. "You wish you'd been in the room when Moony killed Wormtail?"
"If you'll remember, the reason I wasn't in the room was because I'd fallen through the floor!" Derek said hotly. "So, yeah, sort of!"
"All right, all right, don't get your knickers in a twist," Clara said, mock graciously. "Anyway, I'm with you, Derek, I think they're creepy. And I can see them."
"Oh, come on," Romilda said. "It's not like they're dangerous. Hagrid's got them trained."
"You'll enjoy Care of Magical Creatures, won't you?" Clara said.
"Yeah, it's going to be amazing," Romilda said. "Never thought I'd be excited for a class. What'd you decide to take, Derek?"
"Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy," Derek said. "Maybe we'll get Care of Magical Creatures together, 'Mil!"
"Maybe," Romilda agreed dubiously. "That's not likely, though, they like to put us Gryffindors with the Slytherins whenever they can."
"I wonder why that is," Clara mused. "It's almost like they're looking to start fights."
"They're probably hoping that if you have enough classes together, you'll make friends," Derek suggested.
Romilda stared at him for a moment and then began to laugh loudly, attracting the attention of the others walking toward the Great Hall for the feast.
"Clara, what are your classes?" Derek asked over the hubbub.
"Care of Magical Creatures like you and Romilda," Clara said, "and Ancient Runes."
"Not Arithmancy?" Derek pouted.
Clara laughed. "I've been rubbish at Muggle maths since before I can remember," she said. "I have no reason to believe I'd be any better at magical maths."
Romilda was calming now from her attack of laughter. "Guess my other class, Derek," she said in a singsong voice.
Derek looked her up and down. "Erm... Muggle Studies?"
Romilda wilted. "How'd you know?"
"Because it would make your parents angry," Derek said.
Romilda shook her head sadly. "You know me far too well, Der."
"Don't call me 'Der'," Derek retorted absently as the friends started to sit down at the Hufflepuff table.
"No," said a Gryffindor prefect, and he grabbed Romilda by the back of her robes. "Sit at your own tables, today, kids. Professor Dumbledore said so. He has an important announcement."
Romilda barely had time to cast Clara and Derek a helpless glance before the prefect dragged her off and plopped her on one of the Gryffindor benches.
"Dumbledore's standing up," Derek muttered needlessly, as the hall was going quiet anyway.
Clara abandoned all thoughts of Ginny Weasley in favor of listening to him.
"I have a few announcements before we begin the feast tonight," Dumbledore began.
Clara furrowed her brow. Dumbledore always waited until after the feast to make announcements. Looking around, she saw similar confusion on everyone's faces.
"First off, welcome back to those students who left Hogwarts for the Easter holidays, and I wish all students the best of luck in the remainder of term," Dumbledore said with the air of someone getting the niceties out of the way.
"Secondly, I am afraid I have a very grave announcement. In order to head off rumors, I think it best that you all know the true events that occurred at Hogwarts just this afternoon. It is my terrible duty to announce to you all the Bartemius Crouch, our Ministry liaison for the Triwizard Tournament was found dead at the edge of the Dark Forest," Dumbledore said.
Shocked muttering ran around the hall, and Dumbledore lifted his hands for silence. He went on, "Furthermore, we believe this to be the work of Voldemort."
Someone screamed. Fred Weasley yelled out, "You-Know-Who's here?"
"No, Mr. Weasley, but we have reason to believe that Voldemort—" Dumbledore paused for the mutters when he said the name to died down, "—that he orchestrated the death of Mr. Crouch."
"Why would he do that?" Derek muttered.
"They think the Tournament is a distraction for Voldemort to attack Hogwarts," Clara answered softly.
"As such," Dumbledore continued, "the security around Hogwarts will be tightened tenfold. None of you should fear for your safety. Both the Ministry and I are taking precautions to ensure that the school is at its very strongest and all of the students and staff, as well as our esteemed guests, are completely safe."
Clara glanced along the high table at Karkaroff and Maxime, neither of whom looked very happy. But then, they never looked very happy.
"The Ministry has placed at contingent of dementors outside of the castle," Dumbledore went on, stony-faced, and Clara's stomach dropped like a rock. "They will arrive tonight. For those of you who have ever encountered a dementor, you know that their effects are not those you would like to experience again. And I warn all that wandering from the castle grounds is liable to cause you to suffer a fate that is far worse than death. For this reason, I am imposing a curfew—"
"We didn't already have one?" Derek muttered. "What were we sneaking around for at night then, if we were allowed?"
Clara shushed him.
"—to be enforced much more harshly than what it is now. Any student—or guest—found wandering the halls or the grounds after hours will be severely punished," Dumbledore said gravely. "This is no trivial matter."
There was silence in the hall as his words sank in.
"And now that I have filled your head with many worrisome subjects to think about, I lighten the mood by saying:" Dumbledore went on, smiling. "Let the feast begin!"
The food magically appeared on the platters before the students, but the feast was much less celebratory as those students who knew what dementors were explained them to those that didn't. When Clara had finished explaining to Derek, he was completely white.
"They eat your happiness?" he repeated. "They take away your good memories and make you relive your worst ones?"
Clara nodded and swallowed her mouthful of mashed potatoes. "And then they try to suck out your soul." She had never met a dementor, but she knew full well their effects from family stories.
Derek, looking like he might be sick, drew his hand up to his throat and stroked it absentmindedly as though imagining his soul flying up it and disappearing. "Why is Dumbledore letting them come here?" he demanded.
Clara glanced up at the high table, where Dumbledore was eating quietly, looking subdued. "I don't think he has much of a choice," she said finally. "Just like he didn't have a choice for the Tournament."
"It's scary," Derek said. "It's like Dumbledore doesn't have control over Hogwarts anymore."
Clara shivered as she felt a chill run through her. She glanced again at the high table as the implications of that ran through her head. "Scary," she agreed softly.
Clara, Derek, and Romilda had Herbology together on Thursday evenings, and the day after the feast welcoming them back from Easter was a Thursday, which meant that they were among the first to feel the effects of the dementors just outside the castle gates.
Walking down to the greenhouses did not take them on a path near the gates, but they could nonetheless feel the chill that seemed to creep up the grounds. Though the weather ought to have been getting warmer in the spring, it felt like winter was approaching instead of receding. The mist darkened the grounds.
Romilda shivered violently. "I hate this," she said. "It's April. It ought to be warm."
"Should have brought your cloak," Derek chided.
"You could give me yours," Romilda grumbled.
"But then would you learn your lesson?" Derek asked, raising his eyebrows.
"What are you, my professor?" snapped Romilda.
"Yeah, Professor of How to be a Good Person and Stay Warm and Not Snap At Your Friends," Derek said.
Romilda snorted. "That's long. Can we just call you Professor of Condescension?"
Derek swelled, and Clara interrupted dully, "Can you two stop bickering?"
Romilda and Derek looked at her, and then at each other.
"No," they said at the same time.
"Grand," Clara muttered sarcastically, pulling her own cloak tighter around her.
"What's up with you?" Romilda asked after a moment, and all hostility between her and Derek dissipated as they exchanged a concerned look.
"I don't know," Clara said softly, and it was true. Why was she acting like this? Romilda and Derek were always squabbling, and normally it didn't bother her.
They entered the greenhouse and closed the door against the chill mist rolling up from the gates. Sunlight streamed through the glass roof, and Clara instantly felt a little better.
Professor Sprout bustled up. "Chocolate," she said, handing a piece of the Honeyduke's sweet to all three of them. "Eat up." She turned away, and muttered under her breath, "Dementors, honestly."
Clara shoved the little piece of chocolate in her mouth and immediately felt warmth spreading through her and her bad mood dissipating.
Romilda and Derek seemed similarly rejuvenated.
"Better?" Derek muttered to both of them as they settled in with the plants they would be studying today among their peers.
"Much," Clara said and Romilda nodded emphatically.
As was their custom, they settled one fist in the palm of the opposite hand. "One, two, three, shoot," they whispered together.
Clara and Romilda both held out one finger and Derek held out two, making him the odd one out. Clara and Romilda exchanged a high-five and grabbed a plant for them to partner on, and Derek turned to Ritchie Coote of Gryffindor and asked to partner with him.
The class went on as normal, but after class, all the students dawdled in the greenhouses until Professor Sprout got fed up with them. "Out, everyone out!" she called. "I had no idea you lot were so interested in Herbology."
"It's not that, professor," said Ritchie Coote. "It's just...It's nasty out there. Cold and..." he trailed off, seemingly unable to come up with the word he wanted.
"Unhappy," Diane Honeycutt finished for him, and he flashed her a grateful smile.
"That's the dementors, I'm afraid," Professor Sprout said. "But look here, you all just hurry up to the castle as quickly as you can. The dementors can't come inside. Professor Dumbledore made sure of that."
The class still looked glum.
"Oh, perk up, all of you," Sprout said. "All right, how's this. I'll cast a spell to let you get up to the castle without the dementors affecting you. Mind you, I'm not very good at it, so go easy on me."
Sprout drew her wand.
"What's she doing?" Derek whispered to Clara and Romilda.
"The Patronus," the girls answered together, and then glanced at each other in surprise.
Sprout's lips moved as she incanted the spell, and a tiny silver humming bird floated from her wand, beating it's minuscule intangible wings so quickly that it blurred before Clara's eyes. The bird flew through the door of the greenhouse, which Sprout kicked open.
"On with you, then," she said, her eyes twinkling at her students, and she bid them goodbye by name as they left. "Freeman, Capper. Hooper, Percys, Kirke. Frobisher. Dunstan, Cadwallader. Potter, Vane, Easton."
"Thanks, Professor," Clara said as they ducked out the door, following in the wake of the little silver hummingbird. It felt warmer and Clara didn't feel like she was instantly in a bad mood as she walked up the grounds with her friends.
The dementors were an inconvenience, to be sure, but with a little luck, their presence didn't mean that the rest of the year had to be ruined.
Unfortunately, Clara Potter was not known for being an extremely lucky person.
Clara scanned her letter home once more and then rolled it up and attached it to Hedwig's leg. She stroked the bird's feathers for a moment.
"Sorry I haven't been up to visit much, Hedwig," she told her bird.
Hedwig nipped at her finger affectionately. Clara smiled. "Take that home for me, will you?" she asked. She rubbed Hedwig's breast feathers gently.
Hedwig took off into the morning sun and Clara glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she could join her friends for breakfast, and so she scooped up her bag and raced down the stairs from the Owlry.
She slid onto the bench beside Romilda at the Gryffindor table, where she and Derek were eating.
"Morning," Derek greeted her, handing her a basket of toast and her favorite orange marmalade.
Romilda looked up briefly from her copy of the Daily Prophet, and waved a greeting absently that almost hit Clara in the face.
Clara dodged and turned the motion into reaching down the table for a bowl of eggs, which she spooned onto her plate. "Anything interesting in there?" she asked Romilda, pointing at the paper.
Romilda set the Daily Prophet aside. "Not particularly," she said. "Death, destruction, the usual."
Clara nodded grimly, glancing at the front cover, which had an image of the Dark Mark resting over a vaguely familiar building. "Isn't that a famous American building?" she asked.
Romilda scanned the caption again. "The White House," she said. "Where their Prime Minister lives."
"Americans don't have a Prime Minister," Derek corrected. "They have a president."
"Oh," Romilda said, uninterested.
"Voldemort branching out, then?" Clara said, ignoring Romilda's wince. "Other countries and all that?"
"Apparently," Romilda said.
"So the Muggle president is dead?" Derek asked, interested, grabbing the Daily Prophet.
"And his wife and kids," Romilda said. "Apparently the Muggles think it's some kind of terrorist attack."
"And it is," Clara said. "Just not the kind that they think it is."
All three of them were quiet over breakfast for a time, eating in silence.
It was a mark of how often the Prophet reported deaths that the school was not buzzing with news of the dead American president. Clara overheard very few conversations about it in the halls. The teachers, on the other hand, seemed worried by it.
As the Third Task drew nearer, excitement in Hogwarts mounted. Bets were laid (mostly by courtesy of the Weasley twins,) and girls began falling over themselves whenever Cedric came near them. But then, they also fell over themselves whenever Krum walked by, so Clara began to get the sneaking suspicion that they just didn't have very good balance.
Walking to breakfast, Clara giggled softly at her own joke.
"What's funny?" Derek asked, walking beside her.
Clara opened her mouth to answer, but she didn't get that far because a black-haired blur flew down the Grand Staircase and barreled into Clara, talking a million miles an hour.
"Good morning to you, too?" Clara said, making it a question since she hadn't the slightest idea what Romilda was on about.
Romilda visibly calmed herself, holding Clara by the arms. She shook her. "Did you see it?" she said, marginally slower. "Did you see it, did you see it, did you see it? No, you can't have done, because I only saw it this morning out of the Tower window and you two are down in the basement, but—wow—Clara, Derek, it's amazing, I can't believe—"
"All right, shut it," Derek said, mock irritably.
Romilda broke off and looked at him.
"What are you on about?" Derek asked her.
Romilda let go of Clara and grabbed Derek in a similar manner. "It's a maze," she said. "It's out on the Quidditch pitch, growing from hedges."
"What's a maze? What's it for?" Clara asked.
"I don't know, but it must be for the Third Task, mustn't it?" Romilda said.
Derek's brow furrowed. "A maze for the Third Task? Rather easy compared to what they've been doing."
"Not if you stock it with the right enchantments and creatures," Clara pointed out. "Then it could be really difficult."
"So you have to fight through dangerous things while keeping your wits about you to get through the maze," Romilda said. "Impressive."
"Wait," Derek said, and the girls looked at him. "Maze..."
"Yes...?" Romilda said, teasingly mocking his thoughtful tone.
"Like a labyrinth?" Derek asked, looking at them significantly.
"No," Clara said. "Well, yes, I mean, a maze means a labyrinth, but that can't be the labyrinth from the prophecy."
"Why not?" Romilda piped up, intrigued.
"Because the prophecy said six people would go in, and there are only three champions."
"Oh," Romilda said. She bit her lip. "All right, then, I guess not. Breakfast, anyone?"
"Molly, would you open up another few bedrooms for our American friends?" Remus asked hurriedly as he sped past Molly Weasley. "Lily, go back to bed, or at least sit down or something. Do it now! Padfoot —bad dog—put down the shoe, put it down now!"
Remus raced down the stairs. American witches and wizards were milling about the entryway.
"Everyone!" he called from a few steps from the bottom of the stairs, and the noise mostly died down as he got their attention. "Thank you all for coming here; it means a lot that you are willing to join in the fight against Voldemort—"
"Well, what were we supposed to do, now that he's made it personal?" said a wizard loudly from near the front door.
"—However," Remus went on. "We will not have enough room to house you all here. I believe we have a number of Muggleborn members who will be able to direct you to a nearby motel that isn't complete rubbish—"
"He said 'rubbish'," an American witch whispered who looked to be about university age to her friend. The pair giggled.
"But, at the moment," Remus continued, glancing at the girls with a slightly flustered expression on his face, "we would like for you all to proceed into the War Room to be briefed by Professor Dumbledore, whenever he may arrive. It's that door behind you—no, not that one, sir, that's the loo—"
"He said 'loo'," whispered the other witch who had been giggling over 'rubbish' before.
Remus pursed his lips in annoyance.
Padfoot came barreling down the stairs knocking several people over, while Molly Weasley followed in his wake, screeching at him. "BRING MY SLIPPER BACK HERE, YOU MANGY MUTT!"
One of the American wizards had discovered the portrait of Sirius' mother and Unstuck the curtains with his wand. "TRAITORS, MUDBLOODS, WEREWOLVES, AND YANKS DESTROYING THE SANCTITIY OF THE TRADITIONAL BLACK HOME! YEARS OF PROSPERITY AND PURITY RUINED! AND THEN SHUT AWAY FROM THE WORLD BEHIND A SET OF CURTAINS THAT COMPLETELY—"
As if sensing just what this moment needed for more chaos, the doorbell rang.
Remus fought through the throng of wizards and reached the front door, pulling it open to reveal a strange woman with dark hair falling messily about her shoulders and piercing blue eyes. She wore a cloak over normal Muggle clothes.
"Come in," Remus said. "Like I was just telling the others, thanks for coming, we haven't got room for you to sleep here, but come in now, we'll be having an organized meeting in a few minutes—I hope."
The woman peered around him at the pandemonium inside. Then she grinned impishly at him. "You look like hell, Remus," she said, her voice both British and very familiar.
Remus started and stared at her. "Tonks?" he said incredulously.
"The one and only," the woman—Tonks—said, her hair shrinking into her skull and changing into a bright yellow color and her face resuming its usual shape.
"Tonks!" Remus said, and he held his arms open.
Tonks launched into them and he held her for perhaps a moment longer than necessary.
"UNWORTHY BASTARDS LIVING IN MY HOME, DESTROYING IT, MAKING IT INTO WHAT IT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE—"
"Want me to get rid of her for you?" Tonks asked.
"You can try," Remus said.
Tonks pulled out her wand. "Incendio!" she cried, and a spurt of flame flew from her wand, across the room, and reduced Walburga's painting to nothing but ash, a scorch mark on the wall, and a lot of bad memories.
Remus looked at her, impressed. "Why didn't I ever think of that?"
"You don't think outside the box," Tonks said. "So, how can I help? Manning the zoo?"
"Please," Remus said gratefully and closed the door behind her as she stepped in.
"Oi!" Tonks yelled at the top of her considerable lungs. The entry fell mostly silent. "Get in there!" she shouted, pointing to the door of the War Room, and the witches and wizards began to file in. She pointed at Sirius. "You, drop it, or I'll do the same to you that I just did to your dear old Mum." She looked at Mrs. Weasley. "Wotcher, Mrs. Weasley, how are you?"
Mrs. Weasley swept across the foyer and gathered Tonks in her arms. "Call me Molly, dear," she said, squeezing the young woman. "Welcome back! Aren't you supposed to be off investigating the Quidditch World Cup fiasco?"
"Boring," Tonks said with a grin. "Matching deaths to killers is both difficult and pointless as we can't prosecute them. The idiot Ministry declared what happened as a 'tragic accident,' so essentially what I was doing was preparing for when the war is over. And, as Dumbledore said in his letter yesterday, that means we have to win the war first and we need all wands on deck now that Voldemort's taking his campaign global."
"You heard about that?" Sirius said, now in human form and lounging up against a doorframe.
Tonks gave him a withering look. "Sirius, everyone heard about that. The Muggles are practically going to war over it."
"More than 'practically,' the way I heard it," Sirius said.
"Yes, well, that's what the meeting tonight will be about," Remus put in hastily. "Among other things, I'm sure."
"It will indeed, Remus," said a voice from the stairs, and Dumbledore swept up from the kitchen, Fawkes the phoenix on his arm.
"Professor!" Remus greeted.
"Extraordinary," Dumbledore said. "I was under the impression that your family took casual meetings down in the kitchen, which seems a more natural place to do it than the entryway. To each his own, however."
"We do usually meet in the kitchen," Remus said, "but until very recently this particular room was demanding all of our collective attention." He glared at Sirius, who looked chastened.
"I take it some of our American compatriots have arrived from across the pond?" Dumbledore asked lightly.
Sirius pointed. "They're through there, along with what members of the Order there are that aren't currently running missions," he said.
"Which is becoming less and less," Dumbledore said gravely. "Our numbers are stretched very thin these days."
"Hopefully less so with the Americans to help," Mrs. Weasley said, bustling through the War Room door.
Dumbledore nodded. "And yet, with reinforcements, we must also open another front on another continent. It seems Voldemort has more resources than even we feared."
With these particular uplifting words, Dumbledore went into the War Room, leaving Sirius, Remus, and Tonks out in the entryway alone.
"Hey, cousin," Sirius said with a grin at Tonks.
"Hi," she said with an answering grin. She flicked a glance at Remus and then refocused on Sirius. "How are you?"
"Smart enough to realize when I'm the one who's not wanted in a conversation," Sirius said, and with a courteous little bow, he followed Dumbledore into the War Room.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
"So," Remus said. "Do you think we should go in there?"
Tonks shook her head wordlessly, coming closer, and then the pair of them were in each other's arms again.
"It's good to see you," Remus said.
"You too," Tonks whispered. "I missed you."
"All of us, you mean," Remus said, pulling away. "The Order. Clara."
Tonks shot him a significant glance. "Sure," she said with the air of someone giving up. "I missed everyone."
Another moment of silence.
"You know," Tonks said, "I think I will go in. 'Scuse me."
Remus watched her go with an unfamiliar sinking feeling in his stomach.
"People are panicking," said one well-dressed American wizard from his place a few seats down from Dumbledore. "The Muggles, yes, but wizards, too."
"From what I understand, you have contacts within the American government?" Dumbledore queried.
"Yes," the man answered. "In the Senate and the House, as well as what's left of the Offices of the President. They're trying to avert Muggle war as we speak, but who knows if that will work. With this terror attack, Voldemort has roused the American patriotism."
"And that is just what he intended, I'm sure," Dumbledore said. "To create fear and chaos wherever he could."
"What can we do?" asked a witch from down the table. She was young, but looked as though she had been aged many years by worry and strife. "How are we going to stop him?"
"Together," Dumbledore answered quietly. "We must join forces with as many as will help. It should be considerably easier now that Voldemort has taken his campaign out of just the United Kingdom. We have an alliance in the works with the French Ministry, and now the American government, but we need Italy, Russia, South Africa, China, Japan, Egypt—we need the world."
"What does that have to do with us?"
"Everything, my dear, everything!" Dumbledore said, his voice raising slightly in his excitement. "What is your country known for?"
The table looked blank.
"Obesity?" suggested the young witch.
"Freedom!" Dumbledore corrected. "The 'land of opportunity'! What is the phrase—the American mixing pot!"
"Yeah, so?" said a wizard, standing in the back near the door.
"Who better to be ambassadors to the world?" Dumbledore said, beaming around at them. "Who better to raise support for our cause?"
"It's been generations since most of us left our countries of ancestry," the well-dressed wizard said doubtfully.
"You'd be surprised at the longevity of the memories of witches and wizards," Dumbledore said mildly. "In fact, I have my suspicions that the attack on America was prompted in part by some long-held disgruntlement over the events of 1776."
Mutters of recognition ran around the room.
The well-dressed wizard looked around the room, taking a silent poll from his fellow Americans. "We'll do it," he said. "Send us where you will."
All the Americans, excepting those of English heritage, had left Grimmauld Place by the end of the week, departing for foreign countries to get in touch with long-estranged ancestors and relatives. Only a handful remained in Grimmauld Place.
Lily was resting, Remus was out, and Sirius was in the kitchen preparing food for the guests.
"Though whoever decided I ought to be the one to make dinner was out of their mind," he muttered to himself, sifting through a drawer of utensils. "What is this?" He held up a stick of wood with a flat end attached to it.
He was spared answering his question when the fireplace burned green. A strange woman's head appeared in the flames.
Sirius looked her over. "Sorry," he said. "I think you have the wrong Floo."
"Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London?" the woman checked. "Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?"
Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Probably not the kind of thing you should go around saying if you think you have the wrong Floo," he said.
"I didn't think I had the wrong Floo," the woman said, with a delicate lift of her eyebrows.
"All right," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Can I help you?"
"Are you the Order?"
"Well, I'm part of it," Sirius said. "Can I ask who you are?"
"I'm from Salem Witches' Institute; Principal Goodmanson."
Sirius inclined his head slightly to her. "How can I help you, ma'am?" he asked.
"My students are panicking," Goodmanson said. "It seems many of their parents are now globetrotting to raise support for the defense against whatever Dark wizard it is that murdered our Muggle president. They don't know what's going on. They want answers, and I have none to give them."
"I'm sympathetic to your situation," said Sirius slowly. "But what do you want the Order to do?"
"I want information. Our government here isn't any good at getting information to the public that they don't see as need-to-know, but people are panicking. And they're cutting down on their forces by keeping us in the dark. Some of us want to help. The teachers, and the students that are legally adults."
Sirius nodded. "Makes sense," he said. "What do you want to know?"
"Many things, but my particular advice is to send an ambassador to go around to our schools and public meetings to inform us about this new public menace," Goodmanson said.
"A good idea," Sirius countered, "but unfortunately, we're stretched rather thin, here. We can't afford to send—"
"I'll go," said a voice from the door, and a tired Lily appeared in it, leaning on the frame.
"Lily-!"
"Sirius, you know I can," Lily said. "I can't go on missions, hell, I can't even cook dinner. I'm about as useful here as an ejection seat on a broomstick. But I can go spread awareness in America."
"Lily—"
"No, Sirius," she said and approached the fire slowly. "I'll arrive soon," she said. "As soon as I can get a flight to Salem."
"Flight?" Goodmanson asked. "Can't you Floo?"
"No," Lily said. "I'm a known member of the Order, if I Floo there'll be Death Eaters on you in a matter of seconds. Also, I'm in no condition to Floo even if I could."
"All right, well," Goodmanson said with the air of someone adjusting her plans. "You'll have to fly into Boston Logan International, we haven't got one here in Salem. Owl me with your flight time and I'll have a car pick you up at the airport."
Lily nodded. "See you then."
"What was your name?"
"Lily Potter."
"Thank you, Ms. Potter. For helping us."
Lily nodded curtly, and with a pop, Principal Goodmanson disappeared from the fireplace.
"How do we even know we can trust her?" Sirius asked, turning his back on the flames.
"The only way that she could know the location of Headquarters is if Dumbledore gave her the slip you wrote on with the address, Mr. Secret Keeper," Lily said tiredly. "And you trust Dumbledore, right?"
Sirius let his shoulders slump in acquiescence. "Right," he said.
"Then I'm off to get packed."
Clara set down her letter.
"My mum's going to America," she announced Romilda and Derek.
Romilda grabbed the letter. "Really? I've always wanted to go there."
Derek shook his head at his friend's enthusiasm with patience. He turned to Clara. "How long will she be gone?" he asked.
"She didn't say," Clara said. "Just that she wouldn't be writing much. International owl post is somewhat expensive apparently."
Romilda set the letter down. "Well that's real informative," she said sarcastically.
"The handwriting's bad," Clara said, taking the letter back. "She must have been in a hurry. But she told me where she's going, and that it's Order business. And that's enough for me."
"Is it?" Derek asked her quietly.
Internally, Clara damned him for being so observant. "No," she said, and squared her shoulders. "But it has to be."
Lily extracted herself from the veritable strip-search she'd endured at the hands of the Muggle security agents at the airport. She understood the motivation for their vigor in American security given what had just happened to their president, but it didn't make it any less exhausting.
She walked down to baggage claim and grabbed her bag, which had a tag on it alerting her that it had been 'randomly searched.' Lily sighed and turned around, coming face to face with very tall, burly man in a black suit and sunglasses, though they were indoors.
"Lily Potter?" he said.
"You must be the...driver...that Principal Goodmanson sent," Lily said slowly. She looked him up and down. "Subtle," she commented on his attire. He looked precisely like the bodyguards from old American movies.
The drive to Salem was not long, but it seemed ages. The driver was not a particularly good conversant. In fact, 'Lily Potter?' was the longest thing he said to her the whole day. His answers to her prodding questions were in general monosyllabic if they could not be answered with a nod or a shake of the head.
All in all, it was a relief when Lily climbed out of the car at a low stone wall that encircled a small area. A graveyard was nearby. "Where are we?"
"Memorial," her driver grunted.
"For the Salem Witch Trials?" Lily asked. "That's a morbid place for a school." The driver got her bag for her and set it beside her. He gestured for her to go into the enclosure.
Lily picked up her bag and walked in. Immediately, she found herself no longer in a small area enclosed by a stone wall, but in a large green area in the middle of a campus with red brick buildings and ivy coating the walls.
"Wow," Lily said, and made for the building labeled 'Bishop Hall – Offices'. "Americans do it in style."
"We'll need you at the castle," Remus read aloud from Dumbledore's letter to the gathering of people in the War Room. He stroked Fawkes absently with one hand. "As many as possible. Disperse yourselves in the crowd, make yourselves unobtrusive. I have no doubt that some of the fine members of the Ministry will be there, and will dismiss you from the grounds if they think you might 'cause trouble.' If you do cause trouble, please make sure it is worth it. Always your loyal servant, Albus Dumbledore."
There was silence in the room.
"Wait," one of the American wizards said. "So this Voldemort man wants to take over...your school?"
"Not just a school," Sirius said. "Hogwarts."
"Oh, well, that explains it, then."
"If Voldemort takes Hogwarts," Remus began calmly, cutting off Sirius' heated response. "He has all the magical children of the United Kingdom in the palm of his hand. Therefore, he will have their parents in the palm of his hand. He will have defeated Dumbledore, who is widely known as the leader of resistance against his takeover, and thus will have reduced morale. He will have access to a castle with magical reserves that have been built up for millennia. Taking Hogwarts will make Voldemort the supreme power in all the United Kingdom. Very likely in all the world."
Everyone, both new inductees and old members of the Order sat in silence as his words sank in.
"You should be a motivational speaker, Moony," Sirius said softly in awe.
"Aren't motivational speakers supposed to be positive and uplifting?" Remus said ironically.
Sirius shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "I feel properly motivated."
"Well, good," Remus said grimly. "Because we're going to Hogwarts tonight."
"Clara, come on, let's go," Derek said. "We're going to miss the beginning of the Task, let's go!"
He was shouting at her from the common room, but she could hear him through the open door of her dorm. Clara stuffed the Marauder's Map in her pocket and raced out the door to meet Derek.
"Sorry," she panted. "I wanted the Map."
"Why?" Derek asked as they took off through the empty common room towards the barrel entrance and the Entrance Hall.
"So we can watch Cedric," Clara said. "And see if he's getting close to the middle."
"Cool," Derek acknowledged as they reached the Entrance Hall.
"What the bloody hell took you two so long?" Romilda said grumpily, standing up from her seat on the marble staircase. "We're going to miss the beginning."
"Not if we run," Clara said lightly. She ran swiftly towards the doors.
"You and your Merlin-forsaken athleticism," Romilda grumbled, taking off after her friend with Derek just behind her.
They reached the Quidditch stands in record time. The stands had been redecorated for the occasion, with the majority being the purple and black and bearing the crest of Hogwarts, while there was plenty of the light blue and silver of Beauxbatons and the red and grey of Durmstrang to seat their students.
Clara, Romilda, and Derek clambered to the top of the Hogwarts stands and took seats in the back row. The champions were down on the green of the Quidditch pitch, standing before the entrance to the high-walled maze with Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff.
Clara gazed down at Cedric, a stupid smile on her face.
"Clara?" Derek said in a prompting manner.
Clara wrenched her gaze from Cedric and stared at him blankly.
"The Map?" Derek said.
"Oh. Right," Clara said, and she pulled the Marauder's Map from her pocket. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." She tapped the tip of her wand to the parchment and the Map began to appear.
Mssrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present the Marauder's Map.
The words faded away as Clara, as was her custom, traced her thumb over the word Prongs gently, ignoring the significant looks she got from Romilda and Derek.
"Professor Moody is just finishing placing the Cup within the maze!" Dumbledore called, his voice under the effects of Sonorus. "The Task will begin momentarily!"
Romilda leaned over the map. "Shall we see if he's almost done?" she asked, an impish grin on her face. She located the Quidditch pitch. "Hey!" she said in alarm.
"What?" Clara and Derek said at the same time, peering at the place where her finger was.
A tiny moving dot moved away from the center of the Quidditch pitch.
It was labeled, 'Bartemius Crouch.'
Clara, Romilda, and Derek stared at each other for a moment.
"But he's dead," Derek said quietly and very unnecessarily.
"What in Merlin's name...?" Romilda trailed off.
"We need to show this to someone," Clara said, gazing around. Dumbledore was deep in conversation with the other school's heads. Severus was nowhere to be found.
"I wish Padfoot or Moony were here," Clara said unhappily. "They're the only ones likely to believe the Map."
"That's it!" Derek said, relief blooming over his face. "The Map's old, right, Clara? Maybe it's not working."
"The Map works just fine," Clara snapped loyally. She scanned it, unfolding it further. "We just need to find—there!"
Her finger met the page where there was a tiny dot labeled, 'Alastor Moody.'
"He's in his office?" Romilda said, following Clara's point. "That's odd. Why isn't he down here at the Task?"
"Maybe he's ill and he asked Crouch to put the Cup in the maze for him," Derek suggested, clearly struggling to find an answer.
"Derek?" Clara reminded, raising her eyebrows. "Crouch is dead."
"Oh," Derek said, confusion clouding his face. "Right."
"Well, there's an easy solution, isn't there?" Romilda said. She gestured to the Map. "We'll just go ask Moody."
No one noticed three second year students disappearing from the Hogwarts stands in the Quidditch pitch.
Sirius took his place next to two overly excited Ravenclaw sixth years with a sigh. Had he really been this annoying at that age?
Mr. Moony would like to suggest to Mr. Padfoot that he was in actuality much, much more annoying at that age.
Get out of my head, Moony, Sirius thought angrily to himself. He caught the actual Remus waving cheerfully across the pitch at him from the Beauxbatons stands and waved back grudgingly. He spent too much time with that man.
Sirius looked around for Clara and her friends, but couldn't see her in the crowd. He shrugged. She was here somewhere.
"Professor Moody?" Clara called, knocking softly on the door. "Are you all right?"
There was no response.
"He's not moving on the Map," Derek said, who was clutching that particular item. "Suppose he's injured?"
"Well, then we'd just have to go in there and save him," Romilda said, hefting her wand. "What would that make us?"
"Heroes, I guess," Clara answered, setting her chin determinedly. "All right? Who wants to break into Moody's rooms?"
"Ooh, I'll do it," Romilda said eagerly. "Suppose we get caught, and they write home to my parents—"
"Would you stop trying to prove to your parents that you're not their pretty little girl and take a couple of things seriously for once?" Derek snapped and drew his wand. "Alohamora," he said, pointing his wand to the door, and it opened with a click.
Romilda shot Derek a dark look, but Clara stepped between them and pulled the door open just wide enough to slip inside. It was dark inside the office, and Clara lit her wand with a muttered, "Lumos." She heard Derek and Romilda do the same behind her.
Clara went inside carefully and swept her wand back and forth near the floor, looking for a collapsed professor.
"The Map shows us practically on top of him," Derek said, checking shadowed corners with his wand. "But I don't see him."
Clara swung her wand to the left, caught movement in her eye, and leapt back with a strangled scream.
"What is it?" Romilda asked, hurrying over.
"Nothing," Clara said, putting a hand over her racing heart. "Just a mirror." But was it, though? Clara took a step closer. Sure enough, there she was and Romilda behind her, but Derek, still across the room and well out of view of the mirror was also pictured, though he looked darker and fuzzier. If she hadn't known him so well she mightn't have recognized him.
"It's a Foe Glass," she realized. "Padfoot has one of these, but it's much smaller. I remember because I tried to look at myself in it and I didn't show up at all."
"A Foe Glass?" Derek repeated? "Like it only shows enemies? But we aren't Professor Moody's enemies."
Romilda had turned the light of her wand to the shelf under the mirror. "Eurph," she said upon flipping open a box. "That smells horrible. Like a potion."
Clara approached. She reached out a hand and wafted the smell toward her. "It is a potion," she said. "Boomslang skin. Ick, that's the bad smell—bicorn horn. Chopped lacewing flies—no, stewed, no, I don't know. Fluxweed..."
"What is it, though?" Derek asked, coming over.
"I don't know," Clara said. "I've never seen Mum or Sev make it."
Romilda ran her wand along the shelf. She picked up a small bottle. "What's this?" she asked Clara, handing it to her.
Clara took the bottle and unstopped it. She took a cautious whiff. "It's..." she put her wandlight closer. "It's human hair."
"What?" Derek said in shock and disgust.
Clara gasped and dropped the bottle, where it shattered on the floor. "It's Polyjuice," she said. "Tonks told me about it when I asked her about how people who weren't Metamorphmagi disguised themselves. You need a bit of whoever you want to turn into."
"So that's Moody's hair?" Romilda said. "Someone's changing into Moody?"
"Why would they do that?" Derek asked. "Why would Crouch pretend to be dead and then change into Moody?"
Clara shook her head, grateful for the darkness that hid her pale and frightened face. "I don't think that matters now," she said. "All that matters is that he's clearly planning to do something illegal and get Moody to take the blame. And whatever it is will be done by tonight."
"How d'you know that?" Romilda asked.
Clara held up the box that Romilda had originally smelled the potion coming from. "This is empty," she said. "Crouch doesn't have any supply left. He'll change back into himself by the time the night is done."
Even in the dim wandlight, Clara could see that her friends' faces were just as pale as her own.
Outside, the sun sank below the trees of the Forbidden Forest.
(A/N) I can't resist a good, old-fashioned cliffhanger. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can, but a few reviews telling me in no uncertain terms to UPDATE can't hurt either if you really want to motivate me.
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