Jennifer
An insistent scratching at the bedroom door woke me the next morning. Yawning, I sat up and peered doubtfully in the direction of the noise, then at Juliet. She was still sound asleep, so I slid out of bed and padded to the door in my bare feet.
A moment later I remembered the bizarre menagerie of animals that lived in the basement of this house, and hesitated, my hand on the door handle.
"Mia-a-aow!"
Ah...it was just one of the cats. No, not cats, I reminded myself – Kneazles.
I opened the door, and the Kneazle prowled straight in, inspected me with round, intelligent eyes, then leapt onto the bed and settled down, purring loudly. It was a funny-looking creature, with spotted, tawny fur, a tufted tail, and ears that seemed too big for its head.
I gently scratched behind its ears, and Juliet stirred, waking to look down in surprise at the Kneazle curled at her feet.
"Oh, he's so sweet!" She sat up and reached over to stroke it too.
"I love this place, Juliet," I said. "Lorcan and Lysander are brilliant – I can't believe you hated them so much. What's not to like?"
Last night, the twins had quickly made me feel really welcome, asking lots of questions about Greenhill Academy. They'd seemed genuinely interested, not just sorry for me. A little later, Lorcan had slipped furtively out of the room, returning with the funny mole-platypus creature that had been the last to go back into the basement. It was a Niffler, he'd explained, and it loved anything shiny, but he reckoned we'd be okay as neither of us were wearing jewellery. He'd tipped the Niffler into my arms for a cuddle – it was terribly cute, wriggling and sniffing at my pockets – while Lysander told us how the Niffler had escaped, once, during a visit from a much-detested aunt (who was wearing an unfortunate number of bracelets and rings). Lorcan had mimed along hilariously until we were all crying with laughter.
"I know, all right," Juliet said. "They're pretty decent. Anyway, let's go down, they're probably up now..."
Our room was up in the attic, and as we descended the winding wooden staircases we heard a jumble of voices somewhere below.
Suddenly a door opened, and a cheery voice floated up to us.
"Top o' the morning to you! We're all in the kitchen, come have some breakfast."
It was one of the twins – Lorcan, I thought, whose voice was slightly rougher and deeper than his brother's.
I entered the kitchen behind Juliet, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. The whole family was in the kitchen, and they all looked round, smiling and nodding as we came in. The twins were jostling each other good-humouredly as they fried up eggs and bacon in enormous pans – Newt and Tina were settled comfortably at the table reading The Daily Prophet together– Rolf, who'd given the address at Aunt Ada's funeral, was sawing a loaf of bread into thick slices – and the twins' mother, Luna, was dreamily making coffee. And then – a moment later, emerging from the pantry holding a milk jug and a butter dish – Hugo, whose eyes widened when he saw us.
There was a chorus of "good mornings!" and "sleep well, girls?", Luna and Rolf pulled out chairs for us to sit on and the twins tipped eggs and bacon onto both our plates. In the bustle, only Juliet and I noticed Hugo quickly set down the milk and butter and turn away, frowning.
I exchanged a guilty glance with Juliet, both of us remembering the last time we'd seen Hugo – abandoning him - unconscious, memory freshly wiped - on the floor of a stranger's café. The week that followed, held hostage with no idea where he was or why – must have been hell. Only the arrival of Juliet's letter, begging his forgiveness and promising to explain, would have given him any clue as to our involvement. Now he plopped into a chair – next to Rolf, a few seats away – and fiercely buttered a round of toast, without looking at either of us.
Newt and Tina had just started animatedly talking over an article in The Daily Prophet and soon Rolf had been drawn into the discussion too and didn't notice anything odd. Fragments of conversation caught my ears ("blimey – but how?" "I wouldn't go near 'em with a ten-foot broomstick" "some bungler at the Ministry, no doubt – meddling – idiotic –").
Only Lorcan and Lysander, joining us at the table after dumping the dirty pans in the sink, noticed the friction between Hugo and ourselves.
"Hey – what's eating you lot?" Lysander said quietly, poking Hugo, who took a large bite of toast and said nothing.
"It's lovely to see you, Hugo," Juliet said timidly.
Hugo chewed for what seemed like an age, and didn't answer.
"Ok –ay." Lorcan coughed. "Well, this is awkward. I was going to suggest having a game of Quidditch, but apparently Hugo just came over to eat our breakfast and not talk to any of us..."
Hugo swallowed his toast. "It's not you," he said, irritably. "I didn't know they would be here. Besides, you know I hate Quidditch."
"Yeah, but you don't really," Lysander said, crossing his legs laconically and leaning back in his chair. "No one can hate Quidditch..."
"Juliet does, too. Actually, yeah, maybe we should play Quidditch. She can be Keeper."
"Oh, don't be like that, Hugo," said Juliet, pleadingly. "Look, I'll explain everything, I promise."
"Explain what?" Lorcan and Lysander said together, baffled. After another awkward silence, Juliet sawed up a piece of bacon, blushing, and Hugo rolled his eyes and reached for another piece of toast. Lysander looked at me.
"Er," I said, figuring a change of subject would be best. "So, Quidditch – is that the sport you play on brooms, right?"
"That's right," he replied. "Only the best sport in the world! You want to try?"
"You're serious? Can I really?" My heart leapt. Not that I was into sports particularly, normally – but flying! Actually flying on a magic broom – I'd been quietly envious of Juliet's flying lessons.
"Of course!" Lysander said, laughing and pushing his chair back. We both stood up, followed by Lorcan. After a moment, Juliet and Hugo rose too, reluctantly. "C'mon – our brooms are in the shed – you can borrow Mum's, she won't mind, will you, Mum?"
While the others had been debating the story in the paper, Luna had quietly picked up the page and was reading it almost absent-mindedly.
"What's that, darling? Goodness, this is an interesting story, don't you think?"
"What? Oh –"
Luna handed Lysander the paper, and he skimmed the article quickly, frowning.
"It's almost certainly Nargles behind it...you know they are little thieves! And I suspect an invasion of Wrackspurts. It would explain all the confusion with the child, after all."
"Oh, yeah...maybe...but it does sound like the intruders were using Polyjuice. So it might've just been them."
"No witch or wizard would steal from that family," Luna said, her eyes wide and earnest. "They're notorious for revenge."
"Yeah, but Mum, Nargles – really? They've never actually been documented..."
Luna frowned. "Lysander, really...plenty of species have yet to be documented...your father and I have found and recorded ten new species in as many years."
"I know, Mum, I'm just saying, in this case..."
Behind them, Rolf chipped in. "Well, Luna dear, you know I've never been entirely convinced about Nargles either, but they are just as good an explanation as the British Ministry of Magic being behind these disturbances! I mean, they've not even given a reason why. You can't just point the finger, without a shred of evidence..."
Throughout this conversation I'd stood back, politely, half-listening but not really understanding anything they were talking about until the word Yazdani suddenly made me jump to attention. Beside me, I heard Juliet's sudden intake of breath and she looked at me, panic in her eyes.
"Besides, this nonsense about the baby vanishing and then reappearing – children can't Apparate, for goodness' sake, and what's that got to do with our Ministry? What a load of codswallop, I say."
"Anyway," Luna concluded, "Perhaps someone should suggest to them they check their houseplants. Nargles do love hiding in them. And they'll only go on pinching things, you know, just for fun..."
"Hey," Lorcan interrupted impatiently, punching Lysander on the arm. "Are we playing or not?"
"Definitely," Lysander answered, dropping the newspaper on the table. "Let's go!"
"Can I read the paper while you lot play Quidditch?" Juliet asked suddenly, in a slightly strangled voice. "Please?"
Lorcan laughed. "Aw, c'mon, it's a great game! You don't have to be Keeper, that was just Hugo being mean. You can Chase if you like. How's your shooting?"
"No, no, that's okay," Juliet said, firmly. "I'm hopeless, really. Jennifer can play. She's not flown before, so you'll need to show her the basics. I've missed all the news since I left Hogwarts, I want to catch up."
"Suit yourself," Lorcan said, shrugging. "C'mon, Jenny-wren. We'll have you swooping around like a bird in no time. Hugo, don't be a wet blanket, you'll have a game, won't you?"
Hugo shook his head. "Nah. You play. I'll stay with Juliet."
"Oh, made up, have you?"
Hugo scowled, and the twins laughed and threw their arms around my shoulders, steering me into the garden. Juliet followed with the newspaper, already anxiously scanning the article, and sat down on the garden bench. I glanced back at her, my heart beating painfully. Her face was carefully neutral but I knew it couldn't be good news.
I followed the twins to the broomshed at the back of the garden, looking back one last time at Juliet. Hugo was standing next to her, arms crossed, and she tugged him onto the bench beside her. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but she was tearfully shaking her head and gesticulating earnestly with her hands. She had a lot to explain, and Hugo had a right to be furious.
"Lovers' spat, or what?" Lysander pulled three brooms out of the cupboard, jerking his head in Juliet and Hugo's direction.
"Oh! No," I said, startled. "They're just friends."
"Dare I ask...?"
I coughed awkwardly. "Better not, to be honest. So, how do I ride this thing?"
Lysander dropped a broom at my feet. "Right, well, first you hold your hand out over it and say 'Up!' – confidently – and it'll jump into your hand. It might take a few goes."
"Er – okay." I did as he said, holding my hand out over the broom. "Up!"
Nothing happened. I tried again.
"Up. UP! UP!"
But the broom lay on the ground, not budging one inch, just like any regular old broom from a store cupboard. After several minutes of fruitless coaxing, I stopped, irritated.
"Oh, Merlin. I've just realised something."
I looked up. Lorcan and Lysander were both looking stricken.
"I never even thought about this before," Lysander said. "But I reckon broomsticks – might only respond to – you know –"
"Magic," I finished dully, realising at last. I wasn't a witch. The broom would never fly for me. On top of my suppressed terror about the newspaper article, this was too much. Tears sprang to my eyes and Lorcan immediately moved forward to shake my shoulder roughly.
"Hey, don't you worry about that," he said. "You can fly, Jenny-wren. Come on the back of my broom, I'll take you for a ride!"
"Really?"
"Hop on!" he said, grinning, leaping onto his broomstick and motioning for me to sit behind him. "Hold tight – we're going up!"
Suddenly the broom beneath me was a living thing, vibrating with magic. I felt an electric thrill run through me from head to toe. We sprang into the air, the wind suddenly fierce in my face as we went up – up – up – I shrieked and clung to Lorcan for dear life. He sat on the broomstick with perfect ease, relaxed and confident.
"You okay back there?"
"Yes – I think so – yes – this is brilliant!" I gasped.
Lorcan leaned forward and we shot towards the house – I yelled as the roof loomed close – but he tilted upwards at the last second and swooped expertly in and out of the chimney-pots, agile as a bird.
"Oi, you, stop showing off!" Lysander yelled, below us. "Come and let Jen shoot some goals..."
At the end of the garden were three fir trees, and a large wobbly circle had been sketched out in blue paint on each of their trunks.
"Those are our goal hoops, said Lorcan, diving down to grab a large red ball from a case on the grass. "Can you hold on with one hand and throw with the other?"
"Er – maybe, if you don't fly too fast..."
And for the next forty minutes Lorcan patiently flew me gently past the row of hoops, while I aimed as carefully as I could and shot over and over at the goals. Lysander was a pretty nifty keeper, but I hit a few; although I rather suspected he might have let those in.
Flying on a magic broomstick was so fun it actually distracted me for a while. I feinted to the right then twisted and shot quickly at the left hoop – Lorcan cheered as Lysander dived the wrong way.
"Ouch!"
There was a brown blur – a loud indignant screech - and a large owl flew straight into Lysander's path.
"Hey!"
A whirr of feathers – another angry squawk – and the tawny owl righted itself and swooped away, down to the bench where Juliet and Hugo sat. We all looked down in surprise as the owl landed in Hugo's lap.
Lorcan leaned forward and guided the broom swiftly down and round, shooting towards the grass with Lysander following. He pulled up expertly and I scrambled off the broom just as Hugo finished reading the letter which the owl had brought him. The twins dismounted, frowning. Hugo had gone a funny pasty white colour and was staring at the letter wordlessly.
"You all right, Hugo? That's your mum's owl, isn't it?"
"Uh – no – yeah," Hugo said, getting up quickly. "Look, I have to get home – Mum wants to see me. And, um – Juliet too, and Jennifer. She wants to see all of us, right away."
We both froze. Horror and fear poured over me. Hugo's mum – the Minister for Magic – wanted to see us! It could only be for one reason. Somehow, she'd worked out our involvement in the Yazdani affair. Juliet clenched the newspaper so hard in her fist that it tore, as she looked at me, eyes silently communicating the panic we both felt.
"But," said Lysander, bewildered, "Why on earth does she want to see you two?"
None of us replied. Hugo's eyes were wide with anxiety and I could see him trembling. Guilt flooded me, on top of my fear. Poor, innocent Hugo – how could we have got him involved with this?
"All right then," Lysander said, looking a bit put out. "Don't tell us anything. It's not like we've been friends since we were born or anything likely that."
Hugo blinked, and shook his head. "Look, we'd better go," he said. "Sorry, guys. I'll explain what I can later, all right?"
"All right," the twins replied as one, as Hugo hurried us up the path that led up the side of the house and back to the road to the village. One of them called after us. "Good luck..."
"We'll need it," Hugo said grimly under his breath as we made our way along the road, feeling like doomed prisoners walking to the gallows. "You know what's happened, right? A tent's been found. In some desert in Iran. Our family tent. Which, after stirring up masses of trouble, you left just lying around..."
