They gathered in the Vase Room on the evening of September twenty-seventh, having skipped dinner on Richard's recommendation. Beth had put on her favorite outfit under her cloak for the occasion, mostly to make herself less nervous. She wasn't sure that she wanted to sneak off of the school grounds to go hobnob with dozens of adults she didn't know. In fact, it was her idea of a tedious, nerve-wracking evening, and on top of it she was getting hungry. On the other hand, Melissa was positively delighted.
"Can you imagine!" she simpered, as they stood around in the Vase Room awaiting Richard's arrival. "Meeting all those alumni? Some of them are probably very successful -- maybe even famous!"
"Maybe," said Beth halfheartedly.
Richard came in. He was carrying the carved beer stein. Elbowing his way to the middle of the room, he bent down and put it in the middle of the floor and looked up at them with a big grin.
"Here it is," he announced. "The chariot has arrived."
This was met with general confusion.
"What do you mean, we're traveling by mug?" demanded Mervin.
Richard's grin widened. "It's a portkey. At a given time, it'll instantly transport us all to the funeral. All we have to do is make sure we have our fingers inside it, so it has something to grab onto."
"Is it safe?" asked Melissa.
"Perfectly." Richard checked his watch. "One minute to go. All right, everyone, gather around and grab the rim. Make room for everybody now."
They crouched on the floor in a very cluttered circle. "Whose elbow was that?" someone snarled.
"Uh -- mine, sorry," came Herne's voice.
"Twenty seconds," said Richard. "Make sure you've got a finger in."
As confident as Richard was, Beth didn't like the idea of entrusting their travel to a carved beer stein. How did they know where it was going to end up? Would she have to look for an exit, like in the Floo network? That was another thing -- Beth was notorious for getting sick whenever she traveled by Floo. Was this going to be just as bad?
Well, there was nothing to do but try. She closed her eyes tightly.
"Three ... two ... one ..."
It felt as if someone very strong had grabbed her arm and was yanking her into the air. Wind whistled through her hair and she felt her stomach drop as she was hoisted off her feet and jerked through space. She could feel the other members jostling along around her. Then the force pulling her let go, and she was just falling, spiraling through nowhere, with no idea where the ground lay ...
She landed with an enormous thud. There was an injured squall. Her eyes flew open and she looked around. Melissa sprawled under her, gasping, "Get off of me, for crying out loud, Beth!"
All eleven of them were heaped in a big pile. There was a strange sound as the mug rolled off of them and thudded onto the damp ground. Groaning, they disentangled themselves. Beth struggled to her feet and helped pull Melissa's legs out from under Bruce.
Vivian's voice came thinly. "Rich? ... Where are we?"
For the first time, Beth looked around. Her stomach turned. They had landed in an ancient, empty graveyard, with leaning stones and weedy graves ... and they were standing right on top of one. She quickly jumped to one side, thoroughly creeped out.
"They'll be along in a moment," Rich said, with less than his usual bravura.
Silence fell on the group. The graveyard was unnaturally quiet. There ought to be crickets, Beth thought. But there weren't any insects -- no birds -- no rustlings -- only the faint howl of the wind, and the quivering of dead leaves in its wake ...
Vivian let out a little shriek. A robed figure had just stepped out from behind one of the high marble markers and was starting towards them. Beside him, another appeared, cloaked and hooded like his counterpart. Beth whirled around. Hooded figures were starting to appear all over the boneyard, forming from thin air, coming out from behind trees, advancing on the S.S.A. relentlessly.
The eleven of them drew closer together. Then a voice rang out through the darkness.
"Shaw, old boy, where are you in that pack of students?"
A look of relief swept over Richard's face. He strode toward the first, closest figure with his arm extended. The hooded creature took his hand and shook it warmly, pulling back the hood of his cloak as he did.
The man beneath the hood was round-faced and bald. He had a big white walrus moustache and a fat sort of chin. Beth thought he looked very grandfatherly. Letting go of Richard, he waved genially at the group, and came forward to meet them.
"Welcome! Welcome! I hope your trip went well. Enchanted that Portkey myself, to make sure. You're all well, I hope?" Reaching the group, he took Vivian's hand and bent to kiss it. She was thoroughly charmed.
He turned back to Richard, who tagged along at his side. "Haven't introduced me yet, have you? Rothbard, Jules Rothbard. I'm the President of the Society, and as such, your honored host for the evening. Come," he said, eyes crinkling merrily, as he turned and started to walk towards the other hooded figures, calling greetings all along the way.
"Well -- come on!" said Richard.
More and more figures were Apparating to the graveyard. Beth looked up in time to see three broomsticks soar over the graveyard fence. There must have been fifty people now, swarming around the tombstones, forming little groups.
"There are dozens of them!" Bruce whispered, but Evan hissed back:
"There are a hundred and twenty-four of us! This can't be all!"
They followed Jules Rothbard up a hill and over its grave-studded crest. The others were starting to follow him as well -- it was like an exodus of black capes and cloaks.
Melissa tugged on Beth's arm suddenly. "Look at that -- it's really him! That's the founder's grave!"
An enormous tombstone loomed near them, dwarfing all the others around it. The words "TOM RIDDLE" were engraved deep into the marble.
Rothbard turned back to them. "No, I'm afraid that's not him," he called to Melissa. "That is the grave of his father. Our founder was ... never properly interred."
Melissa raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. The graveyard was eerie enough to limit conversation. You'd have to be crazy to shout in this atmosphere, Beth thought, with the mist laying low and the gravestones casting shadows on the slow-moving, cloaked figures --
"Well, Viv, I see you've brought along the newbies!"
Vivian let out a delighted shriek and leapt into the arms of the man who had spoken. As she crushed him with a hug, his hood flapped back to reveal the handsome, smiling face of Jerome Marx. He came forward and shook hands with Daedalus, who exclaimed, "Jerry, it's good to see you! What have you been up to this summer?"
Jerome joined them as they went along, throwing an arm around Vivian's shoulders and ruffling Riggs' hair. Riggs looked disgusted.
"Spent the summer counseling brats at Camp Galileo," he announced heartily. "Ah, they're crazy at that age -- too young to own a wand, but get them mad and tadpoles start to explode -- one of the best things I ever did. I'm studying to be a teacher. Catch 'em and corrupt 'em young."
"Oh come off it," Vivian laughed, "really? You didn't follow the rules even when you were a prefect!"
"Really," Jerome swore. "We need good teachers. Some pureblood families are even starting to send their kids off to Muggle public schools."
"I went to public school!" exclaimed Beth, cheerfully offended.
"And see what it gets you?" Jerome went on, without missing a beat. "Turns you into some kind of Potions genius. Who wants that for their kid? Come on, Stewarts's over there by the big marble angel. He wants to see you and Dell." The three of them went off together.
A tall, hawkish figure strode up to the group, hood raised. "Mr. Shaw," a severe female voice said, "did it occur to you that I might also be convenienced to use the Portkey?"
Richard ducked his head. "Sorry, Madame Pince," he said, a little sheepishly. "There were eleven of us already. And you don't know the password to the Vase Room."
"Mr. Shaw, I have been privileged to know the password to the Vase Room for at least thirty years," said the figure. She pushed back her cloak to reveal the thin, vulturelike librarian. "You ought to know that we can't Apparate from the Hogwarts grounds. I had to ride out to Hogsmeade and Apparate from there. It was terribly inconvenient."
"Irma!" Rothbard bustled over, beaming, and kissed Madame Pince on both cheeks. "It's good to see you -- still protecting the books?"
Beth had never seen the librarian smile at anything, but she did so now. It completely transformed her usually drawn and skeptical face. "Passionately, Jules. It's a horror what the students put them through. Scratches, slobbering, inkspots -- our library ought to be reduced to heaps of scrap paper by now."
Rothbard took her around the shoulders and led her away. Beth could barely hear him saying, "All the old crowd -- the ones that are still around, mind -- Frank is dying to see you."
Bruce was starting to look alarmed at the chattering people all around them. There was a positively claustrophobic look in Evan's dark, serious eyes. Melissa, on the other hand, was practically jumping up and down with excitement.
They followed Rothbard further through the graveyard. Up ahead, a square building loomed in the darkness. It was small and completely without decoration. As they got closer, Beth could make out a pair of carved doors and the word "SMITHERS" engraved in big letters above them.
"Sepulcher," muttered Riggs.
"That's a tomb?" Herne gasped, eyes wide.
Riggs nodded curtly. "More of a crypt really. Keeps out grave robbers. For us, of course, it's got a different use."
"What?" asked Beth, but Riggs had peeled off from the group and approached a figures in thickly furred robes. It carried a beer stein similar to the one Riggs held. Richard saw them and ran over, motioning for the others to join him. He held out his hands.
"Gypsy Arendt," he said fondly, and as the figure came into the light it became a smiling, dark-eyed girl of Richard's age. Gypsy pecked him on the cheek and took Riggs' arm, who looked gratified. "How is Durmstrang?"
"Cold and damp," she said softly, letting her eyes roam about the rest of the S.S.A., "but fascinating. Headmaster Karkaroff is an incredible wizard. The faculty is excellent. Professor Viridian -- he teaches Curses and Countercurses -- has written a number of books. And the Quidditch program is outstanding. My brother Ace was quite beside himself. He should be here shortly as well. I see you've added some members?"
"We had to make up for you and your brother with the fourth-years," Richard explained hastily. "Beth, Melissa, Bruce, and Mervin. They're a clever bunch." Gypsy curtsied a little, smiling. "And our third-years are Evan and Herne."
"Of course, they were first-years when we joined," said Gypsy. "I remember their Sorting. That one -- he's Herne, is he? -- got lost on the way to the common room, and the prefect had to go looking for him. And at the feast, remember how Stewart kept pushing that broccoli on us? I do hope that's a tradition you've dropped."
Richard ducked his head. "We've changed it to potatoes actually."
A crowd was starting to gather around the sepulcher as different clusters of people all moved together. Riggs nodded his head towards them, and they joined the group. The sepulcher rose high above the crowd of cloaks and hoods.
Jules Rothbard climbed up the few steps of the tomb and stood there with his hands raised, fat and jolly. "Welcome, all," he called over the clamor, and eventually the chattering stopped. "We are here not to mourn, but to honor the passing of friend and colleague Baltus Gatherum. Here's the plan for tonight. We have a short ceremony -- then a little more time to mix -- finally a feast to celebrate and remember his life with us. Please follow me!"
Then Rothbard turned and disappeared through the solid crypt doors.
One by one the members went up to the doors of the crypt, paused for a moment, and sank through as if the walls were only mist.
"What are they doing?" whispered Herne, looking up at Uther questioningly.
Uther shrugged. "Watch and learn."
As the crowd pressed in, they could see better what was going on. The members would put their hand to the door, as if punching it, and then fade through. Richard got there first. After a little hesitation, he put out his hand and stepped through the doors.
"What did he do?" asked Herne again, now looking almost frightened. Beth knew what he was thinking. What if there was something unsafe behind the stone walls? They'd never know it -- no one would come back to tell the tale. Or, almost as bad, what if she alone was rejected for entry? Rothbard would probably revoke her membership. She had a bad vision of standing alone in the graveyard while her friends filed into the crypt.
"Beth, go on."
It was somehow her turn. She looked at the door, barely daring to try. There was a round indentation where a door handle would have been. The pattern was familiar: a pair of snakes twining around a lighted wand. The crest, she thought dimly, like on the rings.
The rings. Of course! She reached forward and nestled the top of her ring into the hole. She felt something give, and she stumbled forward. It was like going through the barrier at King's Cross Station; a little disorienting, but not uncomfortable.
The others followed quickly behind her. She heard Melissa draw in a breath.
"Incredible," whistled Uther.