Two Worlds and In Between

by Minerva McTabby

A saga of the Potterverse in the 19th Century. Opens at Hogwarts in 1855, with the Dumbledore brothers and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle. Pre-HBP AU. Muggle-born Dumbledores. No Gaunts.

3. Chapter Three

Title: Two Worlds and In Between (3/?)
Rating: PG-13 for now, may change to R later
Summary: The 19th Century history of the Potterverse: a saga with adventure, angst, romance (het and slash), ethical dilemmas, drama, betrayal, war, and lots of magic. Opens in 1855, at Hogwarts with the Dumbledore brothers - and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The title is a line from Lucretia, My Reflection - a song by the Sisters of Mercy. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
List for updates and discussion: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Marvoloverse
Author's notes at the end of the chapter.

Two Worlds and In Between
by Minerva McTabby

Part One: STATUS
Julius Marvolo
1855

Chapter Three

The third week of term passed in a blur. Lucretia summed it up best when she remarked that my letters now held fewer complaints about Dumbledore Minor, but more about almost everything else.

The worst of it was a harrowing interview with Professor Lott, in which he made me give a full account of that confrontation at dinner. It didn't surprise me to find he knew of my performance in Higher Transfiguration, but I still had no answer when he asked why I had refused the Draught.

An error of judgment, indeed. Lott was right - but my mind shied away from the memory, and as he ripped apart the status implications of that evening I could only stand there and listen, mute as Dumbledore Minor on his first morning at Hogwarts.

"Does your personal status in that one class take precedence over your position within Slytherin? Or your own status pairings? Or the interests of our House?" Lott's opaque eyes held mine, and his tone was scathing. "Mr. Marvolo, if this is the best you can manage, I would advise you to give up the head of the table to young Malfoy with no further ado."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask whether he'd rather see it go to Delacroix - but I held back from that piece of insolence, leaving silently when he dismissed me. No, it would be futile to question Lott about Switch's behavior, and most unwise to bait him.

None of us ever forgot his place in the world outside.

Switch, Jigger, and Binns were the plebeians who headed Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. But Slytherin - with its primary purpose as training-ground for eldest sons of the great families - required a Head of House with enough power and status of his own to maintain authority. And so, we had Lord Gesius Lott, of the family ranked seventh in the greater game. He was admirably suited to the position.

The Lott line was a new family, barely three centuries old. Its rapid rise had involved certain unconventional strategies, and taking up the role of Professor Lott was only the latest of these. Although time-consuming for him, it also brought many advantages - prominence, constant contact with a number of the families, opportunities to gather information and influence some future Lords.

These two aspects of Lott - Professor and Lord - were usually kept in careful balance. However, one undeniable complication at this time was the presence in Slytherin of several eldest sons from families higher in rank than his own; I could imagine Lott looking forward to breathing a sigh of relief when Claudius Malfoy and Vesalius Delacroix completed their schooling. His own status in the greater game inevitably inclined him to favor seeing me at the head of the table, rather than either of my seventh-year rivals. Especially Delacroix.

The Lotts were a line of ruthless, ambitious mavericks, with their primary strengths in the Dark Arts and Divination. This was also one of the very few families in which the wizards specialized in the Arts of Love - that half of the greater game ruled by witches. The Lott line had risen to seventh: a triumph for their skill on the dueling floor and in the bedchamber, their visions and their dark good looks. They remained unaligned, forming no permanent alliances with any other family. And for some decades now, they had been unable to rise beyond seventh - locked in rivalry with the Delacroix, who ranked sixth and would not be dislodged. No, Professor Lott would not be at all eager to see a Delacroix lead in the game within our House. Claudius Malfoy might be acceptable; there was no conflict at present between Lott and Lord Malfoy, who ranked second. But I was still preferable, from Lott's point of view. His relations with my father, who ranked an undisputed first, were cordial; and my father had wed a Valery - another family which detested the Delacroix. Lott had been well pleased when the Valery heir had sat at the head of the Slytherin table, before I took that place.

In the wake of my talk with Lott I did some hard thinking, then moved to confirm my status within the House.

Cutting down on my time in Central, I made my presence obvious more often in the Slytherin common room that week - studying, talking, joining in a few minor games. Finding an easy pretext to fight that sixth-year boy who had a cousin at Durmstrang - not a duel as such, it was over too quickly. Being particularly agreeable to Rosier, and watching Delacroix seethe. Very deliberately, I brought only one status partner with me: Dumbledore Minor. Message conveyed: Move against him, and you move against me. Do not.

He trailed after me in silence, as always; no one else in Slytherin was speaking to him, not even those who tried to curry favor with me. But even with all the hostility and contempt he faced in the common room that week, there was still a sharp decline in his poltergeist-like outbursts - and I could guess why. A great deal of his energy was now going into a training-glass.

My training-glass. A better model than those in the training rooms, and I had modified it over the years to suit myself: its response could be easily slowed to a crawl, for the initial work on complex combinations of spells, or commanded to reflect my curses with recklessly enjoyable speed. Now I made Dumbledore Minor stand before it and practise all he learned. Without a word of complaint, he did as I asked.

Each evening that week, after spending some time in the Slytherin common room or Central, I took him to my chamber and taught him three or four new spells: trying out different types of magic - simple curses, hexes, jinxes, some defensive charms, and others which had nothing at all to do with combat. After that he would work with the glass for an hour or more, while I sat at my desk, reading and glancing up at intervals to see how he did.

Strangely enough, those evening lessons with Dumbledore Minor became the most tranquil hours of my entire week. They vaguely reminded me of my own first experiences with a training-glass. I admitted as much to Lucretia when writing to request several extra books - I'd been studying harder than ever for the next Transfiguration class, determined to leave nothing to chance this time.

Lucretia wrote back that yes, yes, this was all so interesting and pleasantly ironic, and I was welcome to those books, since - here she sounded very vexed - they were no use to her at this point. Her work on the spider spell mystery had run aground on insufficient knowledge of Alchemy - she could go no further without Tamino, yet he wasn't answering her owls, and would I kindly use every measure of influence to shake a response from him? Then she slipped into a mocking set of Transfiguration runes, ostensibly a method for changing Professor Switch into horribly cloudy crystal - from the toes up, ever so slowly and painfully... I laughed till I choked, feeling better about the memory of that class than I had for days.

Yet when I sought him out in Central, a distracted Tamino only waved me away as I pressed him to work on Arachniomnius with Lucretia.

"I will write to her," he replied, looking flustered, "but I can't - no, not the spiders, not now, I simply can't! I'll work on Potions and reading with him, but it's less than a week to the Equinox - you do remember my display idea, don't you?"

"Ah." Hard as I tried not to let on that I'd forgotten all about it, Tamino still gave me a reproachful look. The Autumn Equinox was an important event for the Alchemy students; I wouldn't miss his display performance, any more than he would miss my Dark Arts display at Samhain, little as we understood of each other's fields... I gave in, settling on the window-seat at his side. "Tell me again, Carus - I'll listen, I swear!"

Beaming gratefully, he embarked on a painstaking explanation. I listened, nodding and murmuring the occasional "How fascinating!" - while privately thinking that Alchemy had to be the dullest field of wizardry ever known. The point of it completely evaded me. Why would anyone choose to fuss about with lunar phases, metallic oils, and the arcane reaches of Arithmancy - when Transfiguration was so much more direct?

"And now that we're studying minerals, at last - "

The gist of it was that Tamino seemed very pleased to be done with two years of plant Alchemy, and impatient to move on to metals after mastering minerals. His Equinox display would take advantage of certain properties of granite... I continued to nod patiently, not understanding more than one word in five. Ravenclaws...

In theory, of course, I did accept Alchemy as part of the great Triangle of Changes, the skills devoted to transforming one substance into another. Transfiguration, Potions, Alchemy: drawing on the power of heart, mind, and spirit. Rarely did anyone achieve Mastery - the highest level of wizarding power - in more than one of the three, but many chose to work with two points of the Triangle at lesser levels. The usual combinations were Transfiguration and Potions, or, as in Tamino's case, Potions and Alchemy.

While I did well enough at Potions, I knew I would never become a Potions Master; that was not among my gifts, it had never been essential to the Marvolo line. I was, however, well on my way to achieving Mastery in Transfiguration - a Marvolo trait enhanced by my mother's Valery blood - as well as in the Dark Arts, our line's heritage from Salazar. There were only two Dark Arts Masters in Britain: my father and Gesius Lott. In a decade's time, when I came into my full power, I hoped there would be three. Maybe even four, if Lucretia fulfilled her early promise - and wouldn't that be a sight to see: the first fully-trained Dark Arts Mistress in over three centuries...

"Oh yes? Music as well? How remarkable..."

Apparently, it - whatever it might be - would involve some granite and Tamino's lute. He had been experimenting with the use of music in Alchemy... Then, as if I weren't confused enough already, he smiled brightly at me and started talking about Divination.

Of the four of us, only Tamino had the Sight - so only he was taking the most terrifying subject Hogwarts offered: Divination, as taught by Professor Lott.

All students were tested by Lott himself at the end of their second year. Those who were found to have the Sight had to take at least a year of Divination, whether they wanted to or not; an entirely untrained Seer could only be a danger to himself and others, Lott insisted. At the same time, he was known to be merciless to his more advanced Divination students, throwing them out of the class if they didn't measure up to his standards. Quite unapologetically, he declared he wasn't about to waste his time on fully training anyone who lacked the required gifts.

For us, two years earlier, it had felt rather like another Sorting. All second-year boys had lined up by name outside Lott's office, entering one by one to be tested. Some already knew they had the Sight; for others it came as a surprise, welcome or otherwise. Belcore, near the head of the queue, was one of those who hoped for it. He had come out of Lott's office looking extremely disappointed.

I could make out neither regret nor relief on Albus Dumbledore's face after his test. He'd only shaken his head at some of the other Gryffindors, smiling slightly. No Divination classes for him, then. Neither did I myself expect to pass Lott's test. My plans for third year had centered around a place on the Quidditch team and the start of Dark Arts classes, in which I was certain to shine; Divination held no appeal for me.

Thus, I had been calm as I walked into Lott's office and did what he instructed me to do. Slipping the signet ring from my finger and the gem from my ear. Unbinding my hair, which I had worn long at the time. Drinking the Potion he gave me, tasting earth and smoke. Then gazing into the fire, seeking visions which never came; neither did they appear for me in the water of the silver scrying-bowl. Lott had dismissed me, with a shrug and a half-smile. He would see enough of me in Dark Arts.

It had been different for Tamino. He was pale when he emerged, eyes dark grey with whatever Lott's test has shown him. As Traherne went in for his turn, Tamino brushed past him to where Belcore and I waited with Valery.

"I'm in."

"Lucky little beast!" Belcore scowled, still smarting from his own failure.

Tamino didn't seem to share that opinion. The look on his face was surely more than his usual fear of Professor Lott... I hesitated, but had to ask.

"What did you see?"

"Flames, Julius. Everything burning..." He looked away. "And you calling my name."

Valery, Belcore and I had later discussed the possibility of getting him out of Divination - if he truly didn't want to do it. Tamino's family was plebeian, his father a scholar and potion-brewer in a corner of wizarding London, but the rest of us came from families with enough status to have some influence on Lott's decisions... perhaps. Not much of a chance, but we were prepared to try.

Tamino refused our aid. He had even grown to enjoy his Divination classes; describing them in great detail over the next two years, and practising a bewildering array of techniques on us as well. Now, in his third year of Divination, he was confident in his gifts as a Seer - if still jumpy as a hare around Lott.

"And then the spagyric resonances will be harmonized into manifesting!" His explanation drew to a close, leaving me none the wiser. Tamino grinned, very likely reading my mind, unable to resist trying to get a rational comment about Alchemy out of me. "So - what do you think of my configuration?"

"Mmm... you're going to do a foretelling... with your lute... and some rocks?"

He patted my arm. "Just watch me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reluctantly, I closed the book and pushed it aside, forced to admit that my mind could not absorb another word about multilateral conversions or focus shifts. The week had passed all too quickly, and the last class of the next day would be Higher Transfiguration. Lott's questions still rankled - "personal status in that one class", indeed. I'd show him personal status. I'd show them all.

Switch had provided some warning about tomorrow's task, but not much: only that it would test us on variety and speed. And Valery had laughed, saying it ought to suit me well - didn't I win almost every game of Changes I played in Central?

I was not reassured. True, Changes demanded both variety and speed - players had to Transfigure objects in mid-flight - but surely tomorrow's task would be nothing like that. For a moment I pictured being compelled to play Changes against Switch himself; or, worse still, against Albus Dumbledore... Shuddering, I resolved to think of it no further until the class - yet found myself reaching for another book... before being distracted by a loud thump and a muffled "Oh, crikey!" from across the room.

Dumbledore Minor lay on the floor in front of my training-glass, having failed to block a Leg-Locker Curse.

I rose from my desk and moved to work the required countercharm, then helped him to his feet. He didn't thank me. Looking annoyed, he turned to face the glass again.

"Before you go on - how are you finding Astronomy this week? Any less tedious?"

He shook his head, and I motioned him back to his exercises; tonight they also included a harmless spell that turned skin purple, and a curse for sharp stomach pains. I sat on the edge of my bed, drawing up one leg to rest my chin on my knee, and watched him practise. He wielded his wand much more confidently than a week ago...

His wand.

I had noticed the wood, in passing - unusual to see rowan in Slytherin, it was far more often found in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff - but now it occurred to me that with one thing and another, I had neglected to ask a very obvious question.

"Mudblood." I intercepted his hex as it entered the glass; he turned to face me, startled. "What is the core of your wand?"

He shrugged. "I can't remember... Is that important?"

I made myself close my mouth before my expression could grow too absurd. They did not use wands where he came from, I repeated silently. Muggles. He didn't know any better. And yet, even so... how could any wizard not remember every detail of the day he was chosen by his wand?

We had planned it for months - no, years - breathless to cast aside the small, limited wands of our childhood and seek out those we would use as grown wizards. It was a ritual - a month before starting at Hogwarts, Lucan and I would be chosen by our wands. Lucretia refused to be left out; and my Aunt Clarissa, Lady Valery, though she carried no wand herself, wanted one for her gifted daughter as well as her sons.

And so all three of us had gone together, escorted by my father and my aunt. No common Floo powder for this occasion; my father and I had soared north in his carriage, across the water to the Gower Peninsula to collect the Valerys, then due east to London. There had been much cheerful arguing along the way about which wood or core was best for certain skills; Lucan cringed at the thought of unicorn hair, while Lucretia pestered my father for his opinion on the merits of yew, ebony, hawthorn, and every other wood she could think of that might be suitable for Dark Arts, Transfiguration, or even the Arts of Love. We were still giggling at the notion of a Marvolo heir with a willow wand as we walked into Ollivanders.

The charmed silence of the tiny shop seemed to glow with power, sobering us immediately. Old Ollivander had risen to bow his greetings to Lord Marvolo and Lady Valery, giving the three of us a grave smile. Young Ollivander, a wiry youth who looked to be barely a year out of Hogwarts, was already dashing back and forth, taking down wands from the shelves and laying them out before us.

"Ladies first!" he said brightly, winking at Lucretia.

I could remember her squeal of delight when the wand that chose her proved to be an elegant little creation of elder-wood and dragon heartstring, nine and a quarter inches. Black sparks streamed into the air - and kept streaming, since Lucretia wouldn't stop waving the wand, not even as she embraced her mother.

"Elder! The wood of the witches! Oh, Mama, I can do anything with this!"

She remained at Aunt Clarissa's side, watching Lucan try out one wand after another. He must have gone through over thirty of them before a jet of gold sparks proved he had been chosen by a twelve-inch wand of dogwood with a phoenix feather core. As Lucan waved it triumphantly at his sister, I noticed my aunt's small, relieved smile. A good wand for a younger son; a favorable sign.

Old Ollivander raised a snowy eyebrow at my father as I was led forward for my turn. "Lord Marius Marvolo... yew, thirteen inches, dragon heartstring - was it not?"

My father inclined his head in tribute to the old wizard's memory, accurate across more than a hundred years. Meanwhile, Young Ollivander had seized a dozen wands at once, spreading them out like a fan in front of me.

"Fortune guide the choice, young sir!"

Fortune did. My hand seemed to move of its own accord, pulled by one particular wand. I grasped it and drew it through the air, holding my breath.

The narrow shop suddenly filled with light as flames burst from the tip of the wand: a true wizarding fire, burning cold and bright. Burning silver and green and blue. I felt the wand reach into me, recognizing me, transforming the link between us into fire.

"Ah... Mahogany. Eleven inches. Dragon heartstring core." Old Ollivander nodded in satisfaction as the flames died away.

My father's hand clasped my shoulder. "Mine burned like that also... I remember..."

"A fine wand for Transfiguration!" said Aunt Clarissa, coming forward to kiss me fondly. "It's the Valery in you, Julius dear... Ginevra would have been so proud of you today."

Then Lucan and Lucretia rushed to exclaim over my wand and compare it with theirs... We spent the rest of that day on Diagon Alley, driving the two adults to distraction by firing off hexes in all directions simply for the pleasure of using our new wands.

Now I looked at Dumbledore Minor, feeling somewhat sorry for him - not having memories of such a day...

"You truly don't remember?" I said, still curious. "Well then, give me the wand - let's find out." As he handed it to me, I added absently, "Who took you to Ollivanders?"

He froze. When he replied at last, his voice was so low I could barely make it out.

"My brother... and... Professor Switch..."

"Switch?"

But he wouldn't say another word - remaining stubbornly, grimly silent even when I worked a charm to reveal the core of his wand.

"There you are - rowan, ten and a half inches, dragon heartstring!" I sighed. "That core's a good sign in our House, Mudblood. Would you care to try looking slightly happy, or even interested?"

My attempt to cheer him with the prospect of his first flying lesson the next day was likewise ineffective - now he actually looked frightened as well as sullen. Baffled and exasperated, I gave up, handed him the wand, and escorted him back to the first-year dormitory. The door closed, and I caught myself thinking irritably that the wand which chose him had been extremely eccentric.

As I passed the common room on my way back, Belcore reeled out into the main corridor, looking very pleased with himself. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

"Julius! I was looking for you - "

I had to drag my thoughts away from that puzzling reference to Switch. "It went well tonight, then?"

"Very well." His smile widened as he moved to walk beside me. "No further arguments from that quarter, I'll wager, not after what we showed them - oh, you should have seen the shudders - "

"Your Grim, I presume?"

"Ah, no. Lucan's, actually... Well, we've spent all week composing this illusion - and he just makes a better Grim, that's all. Never seen anything like it..." Belcore shrugged, looking abashed for a moment. "So we decided he'd do the Grim, I'd do the forest, and we'd both do the unicorns."

"And how did you end up working the finishing touches?"

"Oh, he took care of the scents." Sensible enough; adding scent to an illusion usually involved some Transfiguration, and Valery was stronger than Belcore in that field. "But the Trepidation Charm at the end was mine - and I swear nobody caught it, apart from Malfoy and a couple of the top Ravenclaws!" He was grinning in sheer triumph now. "All the others merely... experienced the effects."

I smiled back at him. That was indeed an achievement, to cast a reinforcing spell so subtly across all of Central. "Don't tell me it made Carus look up from his books?"

Belcore rolled his eyes. "He had the lute tonight. Stopped playing it just long enough to watch our illusion, then started up again - I think Lucan was a little put out... But we did make those damned Weasleys look like first-years - and that was the point, after all."

As Tamino and I withdrew into our respective tasks that week, Belcore and Valery had plunged into a determined effort to counter a challenge. Two fourth-year Gryffindor brothers had clearly spent the whole summer practising spells intended to impress everyone in Central. They did attract some attention, being undoubtedly talented at Charms; yet as I watched them turn a wall into an apparent sea of green flames a few days earlier, I'd found their performance lacking in depth. Illusions based on Charms alone seldom went further than the visual. Truly skilled illusion-weavers drew on other arts, appealing to other senses.

Belcore and Valery could work very well together when they shared a purpose - in this case, it was to "put those plebeians in their place", in Belcore's words; and the two of them worked out a complex, clever scene enhanced by some Transfiguration from Valery and a touch of Dark Arts from Belcore. I was sorry to have missed the spectacle of Central transformed into a forest, with a herd of unicorns being hunted by a Grim. The regret brought my thoughts back to why I had missed it... I walked on without another word until we reached Belcore's chamber.

He raised his wand to lift the door-wards - then paused, tilting his head, studying me. "Why the long face? Having trouble with him?"

I bit my lip. Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, he's taking in spells like a quill absorbs ink - but he still thinks like a Muggle, and I want to start him on Healing even though you and everyone else will call it lunacy, and... and he won't talk to me, but he's said the most extraordinary thing about Switch... and I don't know what to do, Aulus.

I looked away, fixing my eyes on the Belcore crest which marked his door. No, there were some things I simply couldn't say to this status partner, eldest son and heir of the family ranked ninth. Not without starting another argument, far too late into the long evening of a long day in a particularly exhausting week.

"Nothing of importance." I forced a smile, raising a hand to cut short his offer of absinthe and a detailed account of events in Central. "My thanks, Aulus, but it grows late, and I still have some work to complete. I'll see you at breakfast." Then I turned and walked off before he could press me to stay.

Although midnight had passed, the corridors of Slytherin were busy. I caught a glimpse of Delacroix gliding down a side-passage with another seventh-year; then a group of third-years were quick to move out of my way. Still, apart from exchanging a brief greeting with two of my year-mates - Quarles and Herrick, setting out with their brooms for a spot of night-flying - I managed to reach my chamber without being drawn into any further conversation or confrontation.

The familiar routine of lifting my own door-wards and setting them in place again felt soothing that night. So did the silence of my chamber, broken only by the crackle of the fire lit by house-elves while I had been gone. I drew closer, leaning on the chimneypiece, and found myself staring at the painting hanging above it.

"Lumos," I whispered, raising my wand. I wanted to see the colors of the sky and the sea, and the castle walls towering over the stark cliffs of the promontory. There - I could almost hear the call of the sea-birds, the dull roar of waves crashing against those rocks; the sounds of my earliest memories. White foam danced in the painted sea, beckoning. Somewhat to my own surprise, I felt a wave of longing to be home.

This made no sense at all. While I often felt that way in the spring - and promised myself that once my schooling was done I'd spend every spring at home - now the Hogwarts year had barely begun. And yet... in the privacy behind my door-wards, I allowed my mind to wander; if I were home, right now, I could walk along those cliffs, fly over those blue-green waves. I could climb to the highest tower and spend hours gazing out at sea and sky. Then descend to the lower halls again, to rest in my own chambers, or seek out my father in his...

Ah. That was it, of course. I wanted to talk to my father. Yet I did not.

Besides, even if I were at home, on that distant Cornish coast, my father would not be there. He was in the Pyrenees this week - following brief visits to Transylvania and Rome. He might be in London next week, for a few days, but he and I would not meet again until Yuletide. Unless... No. I scowled into the fire; no, I would not use it.

Those of us who had our own chambers - all prefects, and any other students of sufficient wealth and status - were permitted to use the fires to speak with our parents, no one else. Lucretia often asked when this "foolish rule" would be abolished, and many students had tried to get around it - but Lott, Switch and the other teachers were firmly opposed to unrestricted communication by fire. And I had never yet contacted my father through the flames during the school year. Doing so now would be equivalent to admitting that I was in trouble.

I had written to him, of course, to break the news of my new status partner. His response - delivered from Athens by a weary postal owl - had been brief, and very mild, though my father could be as vitriolic as Lott about the Muggle world. But he seemed inclined to treat the presence of Dumbledore Minor as a jest - something I would soon tire of and give up. In closing, he merely warned me against acquiring any Muggle habits, and told me to let him know if I got in over my head.

Abruptly, I swung away from the fire and the painting above it. I was not in over my head. I was only tired, I told myself, and not thinking clearly. No letter to Lucretia tonight; I'd write tomorrow and give her some good news after that Transfiguration class. As I slipped out of my robes and into a sleeping tunic, I made a list of matters which required my attention the next day: I would question Dumbledore Minor about Switch, congratulate Valery on his masterful Grim illusion, try to remember if any other Mudbloods had ever studied Healing and Dark Arts... and I'd certainly do some exceptional work in Higher Transfiguration.

The Marvolo serpents on my bed-curtains seemed to writhe, and I felt another odd twinge of yearning for sheer cliffs and high castle walls.

"Nox."

Wand-light and lamp-light vanished; only the flames in the fireplace remained. I watched them for a long time before I slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the Headmaster appeared in the Great Hall for breakfast, anyone who believed in omens might have known it would prove to be an interesting day.

Heads turned and conversations stopped short as Professor Sarastro Trelawney made his unhurried progress from the doors to the High Table. His smoke-colored robes were perfectly matched to the cloud of grey hair streaming out behind him, stirred by a breeze that touched no one else. Oblivious to the whispers all around, he drifted forward, large eyes fixed on something visible only to himself - finally taking his seat in the great silver chair at the center of the table, a place which usually stood empty. Professor Lott, seated at the Headmaster's right, wore his most inscrutable expression. Switch, at his left, raised a hand in greeting - then, receiving no response, shrugged and returned to his meal.

"That's five Sickles you owe me, Herrick!" Belcore called out. The other boy grimaced, but paid up quickly enough. A number of similar sums were being claimed at our table and elsewhere.

"What was the wager?" I asked. "Equinox, or Samhain?"

"Equinox. Since he missed the Sorting this year - a new low, do admit - it seemed more likely he'd make an appearance soon."

"Luck, Aulus, pure luck. When was the last time? Beltane - or earlier? I'd not wager on seeing him again this side of Yule!"

"No matter, I have my Sickles. I say - is Carus paying attention, do you think?"

We both turned to wave at the Ravenclaw table, grinning as Tamino sketched a suitably rude rune in the air at us and buried his face in the book he was reading over breakfast. As his friends, we felt obliged to warn him of the fate awaiting those who sank too far into the shadowy reaches of Alchemy and Divination: he'd end up exactly like Trelawney by the time he was a century old. We told him so, at every opportunity.

"I smell cinnamon." The small voice on my left sounded even more confused than usual. "Is it magic, or real?"

I winced inwardly, seeing the looks exchanged by those who had overheard Dumbledore Minor's words. Several Slytherins, Belcore among them, appeared to be barely restraining the urge to correct his definition of real - painfully, if possible.

"Indeed," I said lightly, distracting them. "The Headmaster's doing - a different scent each time, though no one knows quite how he works it. Not Transfiguration, for certain. What was it last time - cloves or honeysuckle?"

"Cloves for Beltane, as I recall," said Belcore, nodding at me and looking away from Dumbledore Minor.

"Mint, right after Samhain," added Warrington. "Don't remember the time before that..."

"Oranges." Rosier had to raise his voice; he had moved three seats down the table over the past week. Now he glanced at me - and away again, a slight flush touching his cheeks. "It was oranges for last year's Sorting."

"Why, so it was," I replied in my most agreeable tone. "It seems your memory is quite recovered, Perrin." He looked up, eyes widening; my casual use of his first name was enough in itself to bring him one place closer to the head of the table. With a hint of a smile, I went on. "By the way, would you care to train with me tomorrow? I'll be practising some new designs, and your aid would be most welcome."

Though I wasn't looking at Delacroix as I spoke, I did hear the clatter as he dropped his knife, and knew others had been watching. Belcore trod on my foot under the table, but I ignored him, well pleased with Rosier's swift acceptance of my offer. And then, as I buttered another piece of bread and prepared to give Dumbledore Minor a brief account of the Headmaster's character, we were all diverted by the arrival of that morning's post.

As usual, I looked for the four small, swift black owls flying close together. Lucretia kept a dozen of them, so well-matched that it was hard to tell whether I ever saw the same bird two days in a row. Now, one swerved toward the Ravenclaw table - no Howler - so she was being patient with Tamino; while another sought out Valery among the Gryffindors. The last two flew in unison to perch on the shoulders of myself and Belcore.

"Scaria, is it?" I ran a tentative finger across the owl's head; he clicked his beak to let me know I had guessed his name, then grabbed half of my bread as I untied the scroll from his leg.

Belcore had already torn open his letter. "Ha! I knew she'd want that Trepidation Charm, Julius - says she'll use it next time the Hornby witches come to call..."

But I didn't hear his next words, for at that moment I saw the bird which had waited to make its entrance once the others had dispersed. My father's great grey owl, majestic at rest and even more so in motion - now gliding across the Hall, to fly low and very deliberately along the entire length of the Slytherin table. I smiled, relishing the sport in this. Even an owl's flight could be used to emphasize status, to draw attention to my place. His lesson, as ever: all gestures are messages to be read, all actions are part of the game.

"Here, take Scaria for a moment - " Disregarding Dumbledore Minor's yelp, I moved the smaller owl to his shoulder as the great grey settled on mine. The weight was considerable. "Hawise," I said softly, stroking her beak. "Welcome. What have you brought me?"

A low, pulsing hoot echoed in my ear as she extended one huge claw to offer me a scroll sealed with the Marvolo crest. Opening it, I saw it was only a brief note, to inform me of his affairs and tell me I was in his thoughts. Then I caught another scrap of parchment as it fluttered free of the main scroll.

"He's back in England, then?" Belcore tucked Lucretia's letter into his Charms textbook and reached for more pumpkin juice.

"He is... Norfolk, in fact - yes, he does say he'll be seeing your family... and then it's on to London, for a gathering or two where he needs to be seen..." Although my father didn't mention that Lord Lott would be there, I knew well enough they would meet to discuss my performance within the House. Impatiently, I dismissed that thought, busying myself with the owls. Scaria abandoned his efforts to coax some food from Dumbledore Minor; with a last nip at my finger, he took off to join Lucretia's other three owls. Hawise graciously accepted a whole kipper before departing, probably to visit the Owlery - my own bird, Thopas, had been one of her nestlings.

"Care to try a new toy, Aulus?" I pushed aside my plate and placed the smaller piece of parchment on the table. Belcore leaned over it, intrigued by the pattern of clouds moving across its surface.

"He says he got it from a slightly mad Seer in Perpignan," I explained, drawing my wand. "This fellow claims to have crossed Imperius with Veritaserum and embedded the result in parchment with an Unfogging Charm. Guaranteed to tell you precisely what you don't want to hear!"

"This'll send Carus into fits," said Belcore, delighted. "How do you work it?"

"Like this." I tapped the parchment with my wand, saying, "Though I take no heed, speak to me."

All at once, the clouds parted for a moment, revealing words written in startling, vivid blue: "Stop thinking about crystal. Move on."

Though I tried to mask it as a discreet cough, the sound I made was more like a choked-off hiss. Fortunately, the only other man who would have understood an oath in Parseltongue was far away - doubtless speculating over what his gift might do to me.

Belcore frowned. "I see nothing. Doesn't it work?"

"Oh, it works... Here, try for yourself." At least the reply seemed to be visible only to the questioner. My relief mingled with amusement as I watched Belcore speak to the parchment and stare at its response: he turned crimson, springing up from the table and clutching his books to his chest. Though I could see no words among the clouds, it had evidently answered him.

A fine toy, indeed. I wondered what my father was really thinking. Although neither of us had the Sight, there was a bond between us that could give him some awareness of my state of mind. The magic in our lineage ran deep through bones and blood, burned into our very form and spirit, from conception through maturity. Even if I had never known Marius Marvolo, I would have striven to fulfill the pattern laid down for the heirs of Slytherin - though without his guidance it would have been a perilous journey. The question was how much of that guidance I needed - or wanted - right now.

The Slytherin table was no place for such thoughts. My housemates were watching me, clearly curious about the new artifact, though none presumed to look at it more closely without my invitation. I rose, gathering my books - then noticed Dumbledore Minor peering intently into the parchment's clouds.

"Go ahead. Try it - if you remember the invocation." While taking this opportunity to remind the others of his status, I hoped he wouldn't botch it by backing away. I nodded encouragingly as he drew his wand and touched my father's gift.

Several blue sparks flew from the clouds. Dumbledore Minor snatched back his wand, gawking at whatever message he saw - but before he could make any comment in the hearing of the entire House, I pocketed the parchment and led him away. Belcore was ahead of us, waiting for me in the entrance hall and doing his best to regain his composure.

I grinned, waving a few green bubbles at him. "Cheer up, Aulus! Any magical object can be wrong... And we don't have to use it again - we can have the fun of watching others instead."

"Remind me never to visit Perpignan." Belcore sniffed, still embarrassed by his undignified withdrawal from the table.

"Marvolo... so it could be wrong? What it said - it wasn't true, right?" My younger status partner sounded almost too hopeful.

I paused, not certain how to answer him. "Why, what did it say to you?" Not a question I would pose to Belcore, but I felt no compunction about asking Dumbledore Minor.

He looked at his feet, muttering something about flying lessons... and all at once, my exasperation of the previous evening returned. No, I did not have time for any of his tantrums this day. There were more important matters to consider.

"There's nothing to it, Mudblood," I said firmly. "You'll be like any other first-year - some know how to fly, some don't. Do what everyone else does. Truly, I don't see what you're so concerned about... it's all perfectly simple."

His long nose twitched, and the pale blue eyes glared up at me suspiciously. "But - but brooms can't fly! They can't!"

I looked around quickly to see if anyone had heard that. Luckily, his outburst had been lost in the bustle of the entrance hall as students made their way to the morning's first classes.

"Nonsense. You've seen Lucan fly, haven't you?" The Gryffindor team, unchanged from the previous year, had started Quidditch training early; and I knew Tamino had combined Dumbledore Minor's reading practice with Valery's training sessions at least once.

"It's different when it's me. I can't, Marvolo."

"So he's scared of brooms now," scoffed Belcore. "What next? Chocolate frogs? House-elves?"

"What are house-elves?"

"That's enough!" I probably sounded exactly like Lott, but I didn't care. At that moment, I found myself fully sharing his views on Muggle attitudes. Was I expected to explain all of the wizarding world this morning? "No more of that, Mudblood. We need to get you to Potions - and I'll tell you about house-elves, and the Headmaster, at luncheon - and this afternoon you will get on a broom and you will fly, together with all your year-mates. Understood?"

Not waiting for a response, I pushed him toward the dungeons and the Potions classroom. After escorting him there, Belcore and I would have to run if we wished to avoid being late for History of Magic ourselves. I cast about in my mind for a useful short-cut, while still thinking of my father's gift - and what Lott might say to him when they met in London - and why the Headmaster had descended from his tower... and, oh gods, I was still thinking of crystal, and Higher Transfiguration looming ahead of me at the end of that day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

History of Magic was quiet. We were looking at the convention of 1692; I had skimped on the reading, and contributed very little to the discussion - though I was familiar enough with the outline of events to speak my great-grandfather's part with confidence when we acted out the key debates in the first half of the class. That particular Marvolo had been in favor of allowing the wizards of Muscovy to go their own way. Not a topic of great moment to me; there were far more interesting episodes in my family's history.

I found it diverting to observe Tamino - he also said barely a word in discussion, being entirely absorbed in my father's parchment. I had shown it to him at the start of the class, and had the satisfaction of seeing him gape and beg to keep it until luncheon. Tamino usually held back from any games or artifacts that involved the Dark Arts, but in this case the Divination aspects were an irresistible lure. He must have questioned it over twenty times already, I thought as I watched him blush, make a quick note, and whisper to the parchment yet again.

When the class ended, I was among the first out the door, leaving Belcore and my other housemates to crowd around Professor Binns - this young teacher was a general favorite, and, for all that he was the Head of Hufflepuff, tended to favor Slytherins, since we took the keenest interest in his subject. However, our next class was Potions, which meant I needed time to take Dumbledore Minor to his next class and return to the dungeons.

I took the most direct route there, but on approaching the Potions classroom I began to get a very bad feeling. The first-year class had only just been dismissed. The Gryffindors sent curious looks my way, and some stifled giggles. The eight Slytherins were huddled together, whispering to each other; when I frowned at them, they broke apart and started off down the corridor. There was no sign of my status partner - until the door opened and Professor Jigger peered out, beckoning to me. Dumbledore Minor seemed to be trying to hide behind him. My sense of foreboding deepened.

"Ah, Mr. Marvolo." The Potions Master was either annoyed or amused; it was hard to tell. "When we last spoke, I believe you gave me your word that there would be no further... incidents." Raising an eyebrow, he waved me into the classroom and pointed up.

A cauldron hung from the ceiling over one of the tables on the Slytherin side of the room.

"I thought you might enjoy this opportunity to demonstrate your skill - by bringing that object down. Intact, Mr. Marvolo," said Jigger. Definitely amused now; but at least he was giving me the chance to correct this incident before it went any further.

"Of course, sir," I replied, trying not to stare at the cauldron. Then I turned to Dumbledore Minor, speaking in a fierce whisper. "What did you do to it?"

"I don't know!" he whispered back, with an anguished glance at the ceiling. "I was stirring it - and thinking about flying - and then it just went up!" He was useless.

"No matter. Go now, let me take care of this - follow the others - if anyone troubles you, hex him fast and tell me about it later. Go!"

He stumbled out of the classroom, looking back at me over his shoulder. Dismissing him from my mind, I stepped forward to stand beneath the offending cauldron, intent on retrieving it before anyone else could see it. This would be another tale told about Dumbledore Minor by his fellow first-years, nothing more. No reason to worry.

Jigger stood nearby, arms folded, watching me over his spectacles.

I raised my wand. "Accio cauldron!"

Nothing happened. The Potions Master gave a small, tactful cough, as if to say: I've already tried that.

My fingers clenched around my wand; I gazed up at the cauldron hanging there like some bizarre fruit, its mouth firmly attached to the ceiling. I hadn't the faintest idea of what might be holding it in place, but I could think of plenty of spells to pry it loose. Reaching for the most likely of these, I started afresh.

Unfortunately, none of them worked.

I ran through spells designed to summon, to pull, to cut - singly and in combination. Still, nothing happened. The minutes dragged by as I worked under Jigger's scrutiny, and that cauldron wasn't a hair's breadth closer to the ground, and I was rapidly running out of ideas. My grip on the wand became tight enough to make my fingers ache. I felt like blasting the cauldron to pieces - yet doing so would mean admitting defeat, and Jigger had specified that it should remain intact.

Voices behind me, the shuffle of feet as other fifth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors arrived. I felt the sweat break out on the back of my neck. Belcore. Valery. That they should see me like this... Calling Dumbledore Minor some choice names under my breath, at that moment I sincerely wished I had never set eyes on him or his cursed cauldron. What in the name of sorcery had he done to it?

"Well, Mr. Marvolo?" It was Jigger's signal that my time had run out.

"It appears that I... cannot bring it down, sir." I looked him in the eye, striving to sound composed.

He shook his head. "A pity. Evidently, we shall have to call on Professor Fitchett for assistance here - or perhaps Professor Lott?"

Gods, no. Not Lott. I hoped my horror didn't show on my face, but I couldn't even bear to imagine Lott walking into this classroom to find me incapable of reversing an enchantment worked by a first-year Mudblood. I could think of nothing worse - yet an instant later I discovered a new definition of worse.

"Let us begin the class, then," said Jigger, with a final glance at the ceiling. "Unless anyone else has a suggestion to offer...?"

Then I looked on in disbelief as Dumbledore crossed over to the Slytherin side of the room, pausing to speak briefly with Jigger. I didn't hear what he said. My thoughts were an incoherent swirl: No. Don't let this happen. He will fail - he must fail.

He stood opposite me, on the other side of Jigger. The face beneath the impeccably neat auburn hair wore a grave, resolute expression. No one else in the room made a sound.

Dumbledore raised his wand, and a beam of white light shot out to envelop the cauldron, making it shine like the full moon. He held the spell - whatever it was - for a few heartbeats, frowning a little, then nodded to himself, and the light faded.

He's failed, I thought. No change.

Then he pointed the wand again, whispering some words I couldn't make out.

Lightly, easily, his brother's cauldron floated free, descending to land with a soft clink on the table beside me. I made myself look at it as if no sight could please me more; then, because Jigger and our year-mates were watching us, I forced out the words: "My thanks."

There was no reply. Without looking at me, he melted back among the Gryffindors, in his usual self-effacing manner. As if this were nothing extraordinary, nothing at all.

Oh, Hades. I wanted to know what he had done. And I would have cast Cruciatus on myself rather than ask.

But Professor Jigger felt no such inhibition. "Fine work, Mr. Dumbledore! Five points to Gryffindor for your assistance. Now, won't you let us know what you did to that cauldron?"

"I did nothing to the cauldron, sir." That deep, cool, detestable voice... I ground my teeth and listened as it went on. "When I asked you what it contained, you told me the first-year class had been working on a grip-strengthening potion. I made an assumption, and tested it. The cauldron was not bound to the ceiling: rather, the potion was binding itself to both ceiling and cauldron. So I simply Transfigured the potion to water."

Calm. I had to appear calm. The damage to my status from this debacle would only be made worse if I should show any sign of being disturbed by it. Thus, as the Potions class got underway, I went through the motions of participating, working on a rather elaborate elixir to induce sweet dreams.

Lacewings, salamander skin, crushed scarabs... I measured and mixed, making it clear to Belcore that I had no wish to talk. A note arrived, very stealthily, from the Gryffindor side of the room; I set it aside unread. Sympathy was even less welcome than conversation at that point, even Valery's sympathy. Lucretia, now... yes, I might have spoken to her. But if Lucretia had witnessed that scene, she would have hexed Dumbledore on the spot, and the consequences be damned.

He had succeeded where I had failed... yet it wasn't as bad as all that, I told myself. My initial fear had been that he'd used some convoluted form of magic which I couldn't match - and at least that was not the case. He had only... thought differently. Nothing I couldn't have done. And no doubt I would have found the same solution, had I not been so pressed for time - had Jigger not been breathing down my neck - yes, I would have thought of it. Certainly.

Still, I had no wish to see Dumbledore Minor. This was all his fault, curse him. Briefly, I considered sending him to sit at the foot of the table with the other first-years for luncheon... no, that wouldn't do, it was never advisable to display a rift between status partners. But I didn't have to speak to him.

My potion gained five points for Slytherin at the end of the class, despite being quite the wrong shade of blue. Had the Master been anyone but Jigger, I might have suspected him of feeling sorry for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As luncheon began, I was still in a vile temper; my eyes kept straying to the Gryffindor table and various painful curses danced a random pattern through my mind. Then Dumbledore Minor trailed in after the other Slytherin first-years, and sat down beside me.

"Potions - my cauldron - oh, what happened?"

"Be silent," I said, softly enough not to be overheard, but more coldly than I had ever spoken to him before. "Not another word - or I will turn you into a statue for the duration of this meal."

"But Marvolo... my cauldron - " He stopped speaking when my hand moved to my wand. I had explained the Full Body Bind a few days earlier. Now he shrank away from me, realizing it was no idle threat; perhaps also aware that no one else would object in the slightest. Certainly not Belcore, who was looking so smug that I snapped at him next, making him start and stare at me warily.

Conversation at the Slytherin table was vicious that hour, as if reflecting my mood; it opened with the rumor that the Ravenclaw Seeker had finally seduced all three of the Hufflepuff Chasers, and grew wilder from there. As long as the names of my family and friends were kept out of it, this was a pleasure - no other house could gossip as wickedly as ours - and now I joined in the ebb and flow of talk, always taking note of who spoke to whom, tracing the minute shifts in status along the table.

By the end of the meal we were deep into a discussion of that Squib from the Murrell line who had vanished into the Muggle world, only to set himself up in Essex as a "cunning man". The Murrells, a respectable family ranked seventy-third, were simply mortified. Almost everyone else found it highly diverting.

"He's calling himself 'The Devil's Master' now," said Quarles, tossing an apple to Traherne. "Tells the Muggles he can defend them against Dark Arts!"

"That's rich," said Malfoy, looking sceptical. "As if anyone's using Dark Arts on Muggles nowadays..."

Belcore leaned forward. "Yet he profits nicely by it, so they say. The Murrells are never stupid, not even their Squibs. Muggle coin, but still... Heard of his 'witch bottles'?"

I laughed with the rest of the table as Belcore described these unlikely artifacts and several others suggested tests of Murrell's abilities, based on what it might be possible to do to Muggles with the aid of Dark Arts.

Then, as our housemates began to rise and disperse, I grudgingly turned my attention to Dumbledore Minor again, motioning at him to follow me, and led the way through the Great Hall doors, stopping in a corner of the entrance hall and drawing my wand.

He had obeyed me, keeping very quiet. For most of luncheon I'd had the relief of pretending he didn't exist. I wanted that to continue.

Now I waved at the staircase, where his year-mates were already on their way to the afternoon's first class. "I'm done with escorting you everywhere - you can take your chances. Go on, History of Magic next, then the flying class..." Pointing my wand at him, adding a promise to my next words. "And if I hear any more of that Muggle taradiddle about brooms, you'll regret it."

Still silent, he looked from my wand to my face - and briefly at Belcore, standing nearby. Then he walked off slowly toward the staircase, hugging his books to his chest, not looking back.

Tamino and Valery caught up with us a moment later. Valery had already been introduced to my father's parchment, but whatever it told him hadn't affected his high spirits at all.

"I'm free till Switch's class - off to the library now, might even read something if there's no one amusing to talk to. What do you have next - Charms? You poor Slyths, how exhausting, Fitchett's in full flight today..."

As Valery's cheery chatter streamed past me, I noticed Tamino staring after Dumbledore Minor with a puzzled expression.

"Gods, what did you say to him? He looked perfectly dreadful - and why is he walking alone?"

"Because I've had enough of being his nursemaid. Don't ask."

"Mmm, yes, Lucan told me what happened in Potions..." Tamino seemed to be worrying about me again; he peered at me as if I were a novel kind of scrying bowl, and took a deep breath. "Julius, he is not his brother. Stop taking it out on him! They're quite different."

My wand was in my hand. If anyone else had dared say that to me... but this was Tamino, and I still had enough of a grip on my temper to hold back from casting curses while seeking the right way of telling him to mind his own business.

Belcore replied before I could speak. "They're both Mudbloods. That's more than sufficient - and the school would be well rid of the pair of them!"

"Nonsense, their birth has nothing to do with it," said Tamino, bridling. "Look at how they work, they're chalk and cheese - "

"But they do share a veritable gift for annoying our dearest Julius - and we can't have that, can we?" Valery grinned at me, then made a show of deep thought. "Let's see... we could turn the little one into a Cornish pixie, and smuggle him out - Lucretia would be glad to have him in her menagerie..."

I gave a reluctant snort of laughter. "Lucan, that's the most rational idea I've heard today. Very well, I won't - " But I was interrupted; it appeared that my first status partner had more to say.

"Mudbloods, Carus! Not born among us." Belcore made a impatient gesture. "Not a question of their skill, but of their loyalties, in a time of peril - oh, why am I even trying to explain it? If you lack the understanding in your own blood - "

Then he fell silent, seeing the look that flickered across Tamino's face at those last words.

We were not in the habit of speaking to each other as if it mattered that Tamino was a plebeian, or Valery a younger son, or Belcore's family ranked ninth while mine ranked first. Elsewhere in our world, birth and blood meant everything. Between the four of us, that was not so. An illusion, worked and held in the name of friendship.

Belcore's words had broken that tacit agreement. And he was right, damn him - for reasons reaching into the far past, to the origins of our fighting skills, the Dark Arts, and the game itself. Three of us were descended from the warriors of our kind: with an inborn revulsion toward the enemy, and vigilance against the untrustworthy - honed to its sharpest edge among the heirs, the players of the game. The fourth among us would never feel it in quite the same way.

Tamino forced a laugh through the awkward silence. "Well, Aulus - you're free to think of me as your retainer, if it pleases you..."

"That he's not! If you're to be anyone's retainer, you should be mine - " The poor jest was only made worse by Valery's clumsy attempt to cap it.

"Oh, but I am that already, of course." Tamino's mild glance shifted to me, then back to Valery. "I follow where you lead - the two of you. As I ought. Is it not true?"

I longed to tell him it was not true, but couldn't think how to say it in a way he would believe. Ignoring Belcore, I watched my other two friends hold each other's gaze, silenced by what seemed to pass between them.

"Carus, no - not true! I never meant - "

"Leave it be, Lucan... So, I have Potions next, then Divination - Julius, may I keep the parchment a while longer?" Seeing my nod, Tamino turned away toward the dungeons without another word.

Valery watched him go. "As if I'll ever have any retainers, anyway," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he looked at Belcore, and his expression hardened.

"Oh, well said, Aulus! No Mudbloods... then no plebeians, and then no younger sons, perhaps?" Valery was a weaker duelist than Belcore or I, but when his brown eyes flashed as they did now, his words became weapons without being spells. "Out to shape your own little realm, of lords and heirs alone? Why do you ever bother stepping outside your common room?"

"I only spoke the truth!" Belcore defended himself, his voice a growl. "And have I ever held it against Carus that he's not high-born? He's my friend also - but he does follow you around like a retainer - just as all of us follow - " He glanced at me and closed his mouth abruptly, looking away.

I stared at both of them, shocked beyond words. This conversation had spiralled into something worse than any exchanges at the Slytherin table, and I was not in control of it at all. "Don't, Aulus," I said, far too softly. "Lucan, drop this now - "

Giving me a cool smile, Valery went on. "Doesn't the game ever get a little dull, Julius? Feel like stirring it up? Why not cut him loose and form a cosy new pair with Malfoy - you can do that at any time, can't you?" Then he turned back to Belcore, with a mocking bow. "Do let me know when you're sitting at the foot of the table, or under the table, or whatever's the next fashion in your House... Gods, I'm glad to be in Gryffindor and well out of it!"

Belcore only scowled back, as if any response would be beneath his dignity; but his face was a shade paler now. He looked down at his books, apparently absorbed in counting them, over and over.

Valery waved a hand at the front doors, which stood open. "Sod the library, I'm going flying. See you in Transfiguration, Julius." And he was gone, long dark hair streaming behind him, racing down the steps as if his own Grim were chasing him.

Belcore looked up. "Going to hex me now? Or work Imperio on all of us? You look like you want to." His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Yet another blasted argument that never would have happened, if not for him... Think about that."

He turned away and started up the great marble staircase, taking out his flask as he went. Leaving me alone in the crowded entrance hall.

I stood there for a long moment, thinking of what my friends had said before going their separate ways in anger - especially what Belcore had said.

I could do it. I was the strongest; I could indeed bind them all under Imperius, or work a Memory Charm.

I wanted to do it. The sight of discord among the three of them made me deeply uneasy; and the notion of them not being there - that brought a hollow, perilous feeling, as if the cliffs of Tintagel should crumble, sending the castle into the sea...

I would have done it, but I was sure it would make me feel even worse.

With a sigh, I followed Belcore up the stairs to the Charms classroom. This whole day was jinxed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Professor Fitchett made us work, assigning a series of fiendishly difficult Concealment Charms and their countercharms. Belcore and I barely spoke during the class, apart from exchanging spells; at the end of it, he brushed aside my attempt to detain him and strode off.

I was the first to arrive for Higher Transfiguration. Traherne entered a moment later, having walked a discreet distance behind me; then Valery arrived, broomstick over his shoulder, face wind-reddened from flight. I looked away from the door as Dumbledore walked in, glancing instead at Valery while preparing my ink and parchment.

"Shall we speak of it, Lucan?"

"I think not," he replied, taking out his own books. "I'll speak with Carus - until then, leave it, do. After all, you didn't even look at my note in Potions..." He brushed back his hair, smiling at me in reassurance. "I am well enough, truly."

The three Ravenclaws ran in together, laughing. Catching sight of me, one of them called out, "Ha, Marvolo! Why have you never favored us with the tale of Emeric the Evil Sheep?"

Valery spluttered. Taken aback, I was about to ask Gerson why he'd gone stark raving mad - when Professor Switch walked into the room. With an armful of flowers.

"Something smaller today, lads!" he said, casting a genial, measuring glance over the seven of us. He seemed in fine humor; I wondered if Jigger had informed him of the cauldron incident yet, then made myself dismiss the thought.

"Let's give you some matter with a little life to it," Switch was saying. "You're aiming for variety here - consider it a review of materials, if you wish - use at least a dozen, please. And do try to work the change in one motion, nice and smoothly. Full points for speed and no repetition of substances! Here you are, yes, go on, get started - " He moved around the desks, handing each of us a large white chrysanthemum.

I frowned at mine, trying to estimate the number of its petals - at least a hundred. One motion? Gods.

"And a final point, before I leave you to it," said Switch as he returned to his table at the front of the classroom. "Time to remind you boys, once again, that Transfiguration is an art. Any wizard may work a change, but part of the path to Mastery is learning to Transfigure with meaning - yes, and beauty - so I'd like to see some of that today, if you please. Be creative. Show me something original. Now, get to work!"

The flower on my desk was a lovely thing in itself. Studying it, I began to see Switch's intention: this time he offered us a tiny living canvas for our skills, daring us to attempt some intricacy in miniature. I found myself captivated by the challenge; this class, which I had dreaded all week, suddenly felt like a good place to be.

"A dozen, did he say?" Valery's wand traced a series of fine glowing lines over the surface of his flower, dividing its circle into twelve segments. "Fine. A dozen it is. Think we're meant to change the stem as well?"

"No, we're meant to eat it! Really, Lucan..." My cutting reply was disregarded, as I knew it would be. And while Lucretia might have tried to chivvy her brother into showing more ambition, I left him to his work and turned to my own.

It required fewer elaborate calculations than the previous week's task, but more precision. Three parts to it, I decided: the stem, the petals, and the heart of the flower. The first would be simple - smiling to myself, I thought immediately of the perfect material for it, something which could also serve to make a point. Transfiguring the petals would require considerable planning, if I wished to succeed in changing each to a different substance. The heart... I seized my quill and started scribbling down some likely combinations of materials.

The world narrowed to the contours of the flower before me. I studied it, running through the changes I would work, almost certain that I could do it in one motion... maybe... probably, with sufficient concentration. Over a hundred materials - not instantly, but very rapidly, making all the changes flow together into one. Running a finger over the chrysanthemum's curves, I considered what would look best: should I change it from the top down, from the bottom up, in segments...? Then it came to me, the thought of what to do with the heart of the flower. The eye of the serpent. And all the other transformations growing from it, in an outward spiral. Yes...

Halfway through listing the materials I would use, I was so lost in the task that at first I didn't even notice the insect land on my right hand, just behind my quill. When I did see it, I tried to flick it off. It refused to budge.

Then I peered at it more closely as it began to crawl very purposefully over and around my hand, coming to a halt underneath it, in my palm - where I felt it change.

With Jigger as their Head of House, Ravenclaws were forced to develop subtlety in their note-passing. This one was from Gerson, of course, working with Traherne at the desk behind me. Both of them, and the two other Ravenclaws, smiled at me rather oddly when I glanced around - so it was with some apprehension that I unfolded their scrap of parchment.

Valery looked up from his flower at my soft intake of breath. Wordlessly, I showed him the note - then turned it back into an insect, solely for the pleasure of crushing it flat. A quick glare wiped the grins from the faces of Traherne and the Ravenclaws; but I knew there would be no way of stopping yet another quote from spreading around the school.

According to the first-year Ravenclaws in his History of Magic class, Dumbledore Minor - using my family's name, as I permitted him to do - had seemed somewhat confused when Binns asked him how a certain Lord Marvolo, several centuries ago, had defeated Emeric the Evil. Yet confusion was surely too kind a term for whatever perverse impulse had spurred him to declare that my ancestor turned his adversary into a sheep.

Valery avoided looking at me, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"Stop that! I'll hex you, I swear, even if Switch takes points - "

I certainly wanted to hex someone at that moment. Damn the brat - I'd considered History of Magic a class relatively safe from any of his incidents - and now, after everything else that had happened this day... With a suddenly unbearable intensity, I wished him gone from my thoughts and my world.

Why was he here at all? When I tried to think back three weeks, I could no longer recall exactly what had moved me to make a place for him in Slytherin. Something to do with his talent, was it not? But the only talent I could see at present was his unerring capacity to disrupt my life and humiliate me in front of the whole school.

I wished him gone, and I didn't know how it might be done - and I could not think about it now. The flower on my desk was more important. I needed to finish planning my changes - and I had to make them good. Very good. Better than whatever his brother might do...

I would not be humiliated again this day.

Without knowing it, I'd turned to my right. I found myself staring at Albus Dumbledore - working alone, no doubt planning a performance to leave us all duly dazzled, and quite oblivious to the exchange between Gerson and myself, or the glower I directed at him. He could work in peace on his task. He would not be distracted by any foolish gossip, even if it did concern his fool of a brother. The long fingers of his right hand rested on the flower, as he covered his parchment with what looked like... lines? Curves? I craned my neck slightly to see the images there: he was sketching the petals, the stem, and the heart...

"Mr. Marvolo, do you find another student's work more interesting than your own?"

The sting in Switch's voice made me turn back to my own parchment very swiftly; yet still the images coursed through my mind - and I was thinking of Ollivanders again, the three of them at Ollivanders, both brothers and Switch... There my imagination failed me. Whatever could have drawn the Transfiguration Master to see an unknown Mudblood chosen by his wand? And why hadn't Lott mentioned this to me? Anything Switch knew, Lott knew; everyone was well aware of that - it was how the two of them ran the school, while the Headmaster drifted among visions in his Tower.

And surely I was drifting as far as Trelawney, pondering all this while my work lay undone. With a muttered oath I took up my quill and forced my concentration back to the chrysanthemum and the sequence of changes I wished to use. The complexity of the task came as a relief.

Working fast and furiously, I had managed to complete my planning and test a few changes when we were all called to the front of the classroom. With a jaunty wave of his flower, Valery moved forward to the Master's desk - but Switch stopped him.

"Much as I appreciate your desire to get it over with, Mr. Valery... let's give others a chance to go first, shall we? So - you'll be working in order of age today." Switch glanced down at the scroll on which he recorded our names and results. "You may begin, Mr. Marvolo."

With my sixteenth birthday fast approaching, I was among the older students in our year. Exchanging a brief, wry glance with Valery, I stepped up to the desk and levitated my flower into position, suspended in mid-air to give Switch and all the others a clear view. Then, thankful for a great deal of past experience in appearing more confident than I truly felt, I moved the spell into place in my mind and raised my wand.

Begin. Now.

Power streamed from my wand into the heart of the flower: it became a great emerald, faceted and flawless, drawing and holding all eyes with its cold green glow. Marvolo green. And then, seamlessly, the serpent uncoiling: I sent the sequence of changes I had planned spiralling out from the heart, petal by petal, as fast as I could.

Amethyst, oak-wood, parchment, owl-feather, marble, charcoal, elm-leaf, toad-skin, gossamer...

My hand trembled on the wand; unnoticeably, I hoped. Although the sequence was set, I still had to focus closely enough to command and guide each change - and the strain of doing it was almost unbearable.

Ebony, ice, pewter, sapphire, fish-scale, bronze, gillyweed, verdigris, sandalwood, candlewax...

On and on, circling the heart, screaming silently as my spiral of changes moved down along the curve of the flower, toward the stem, feeling a sharp pain behind my eyes, and reaching within myself to make the spell move faster - almost there, yes, walnut, moth's wing, henbane, velvet, birch-bark... Gods, yes. Done. Only the stem remaining. Light-headed with success, I sent out one last command.

Crystal. The best damned crystal I had ever made: the chrysanthemum's stem shone brilliantly, impeccably clear.

I smiled, relaxing my grip on the wand, only holding the spell in place as Switch drew the flower toward himself for a closer examination. The spell seemed to be holding me as well; I couldn't take my eyes from the multitude of colors sparkling around the emerald heart. I felt my own heartbeat pounding, too fast.

Let Switch look all he liked - he'd not find a single repetition; and he would be sure to notice the petals made of mead and butterbeer, to appreciate the extra effort involved in binding a liquid to that shape. I had done well, surely. More than well. Now holding the spell felt sweet, almost intoxicating; I wanted to laugh and laugh.

"Admirable technique, Mr. Marvolo." Switch nodded slowly, giving the crystal stem a light tap with his wand. "Well done. Ten points to Slytherin."

Oh, but this made up for the rest of the whole disastrous day. Satisfaction glowed within me as I released the spell and returned to Valery's side; his delighted whisper of admiration made me feel even better. I had done my best with this task, and it had been enough. This night I'd write to Lucretia, the only one who would truly understand; I'd tell her every detail... I would do it, after I released the spell. Soon.

No... I'd already released it, of course I had. Why could I still see the spiral, why did I feel as if I were still working the changes?

Gerson, pale and anxious, was next after me. I watched him, and his chestnut-brown hair seemed to shine with its own light - then I looked around the room, and everything on which my eyes rested had that glow. Colors, colors I had never noticed before. Waves of color. Spirals... Gods. My head ached, and the room was too bright.

Gerson managed to avoid repetition, but faltered to a halt several times before all the petals changed, and there was a long pause before he tackled the stem. With a small, disturbing smile, Switch told him to take his time. The hapless Gerson dropped his wand.

My spell's intensity lingered, holding me in its coils.

No Restorative Draught this time; presumably Switch didn't consider the scale of this task to require it. I clenched my fists and tried to think ahead, beyond the class. Dinner, sure to be a wretched affair - with that little demon sulking on one side of me, Belcore sullenly swigging absinthe on the other, and far too many Slytherins making snide allusions to sheep. I was inclined to find an excuse to avoid it, if not for some concern over what my status partners might do to each other without me...

Gerson moved back to his place, making way for Valery. My pulse had slowed now, but my thoughts still raced, and even the black cloth of my robes seemed luminous, enchanted... No, I had to stop this, had to think clearly. I'd watch Valery work his changes, I'd think only of him...

My cousin Lucan, two months younger than I. As he swung into his swift, simple pattern, my mind spun away into memories. The tale Aunt Clarissa had told me, once I was of an age to hear it: bearing the twins at mid-winter, so soon after her elder sister had died bearing me. The Valery witches, with their sad history of childbed... The courage it took for Ginevra Valery to wed Lord Marvolo, old enough to be her own grandsire, in full knowledge of what the ancient magic that shaped the heirs of Salazar required of the women who carried them. For her sake, my father had extended his protection to the Valerys in their time of need; while she had given him the bloodline he sought for its promise of an heir who would not fail. And she had paid the price.

But now Valery was cheerfully accepting two points for Gryffindor, he was back at my side already - and surely I'd only been distracted for a few seconds, I couldn't have missed his Transfiguration task - yet I had. Alarm flooded a small corner of my mind. Not right. Whatever this was, I'd assumed it would pass, quickly; instead, it was growing stronger. Then the faint wisp of warning was lost among a dozen other sensations flickering through me, exhilaration and fear and calm well-being and perturbation all melding and merging, singing across my nerves.

The classroom was too large. Too full of light, of colors... Too much. I had to stop this.

A second Ravenclaw replaced Valery by the Master's desk, and raised his wand.

I would make myself stop. What had I been thinking of, before working that spell? I would think of it again, and everything would return to normal.

Gerson. His tale from History of Magic. Dumbledore Minor. I'd been wondering how to get rid of him.

A fresh burst of color as the Ravenclaw boy began his task. Colors rippling into more colors, extending into paler ghosts of themselves, trailing across my field of vision...

Dumbledore Minor. I saw him silent beside me at luncheon that day - standing white-faced and hostile in a room full of spiders - hurling hexes into my training-glass, over and over, with all his stubborn determination - walking beside me through the Shuttle's cloud, the first night - glancing back as he left the Potions classroom that morning - asking me to show him how to fight...

The Ravenclaw completed his changes. Some repetition, I could see it immediately - the flower seemed huge to me, unnaturally radiant - and a wisp of smoke arose from the heart; the change he'd tried there had obviously failed.

I felt as if I were floating - or falling. I wanted to hold on to Valery's arm, but stopped myself, standing perfectly still. Even now, I could and would keep my face expressionless. Whatever was happening to me - no one must know of it. That corner of my mind which still made any sense at all insisted on this, with the urgency of a command. All gestures are messages to be read. The game. I'd not permit this to affect my status - I would fight it -

Floating, flying from one thought to another, no control over the patterns - thinking of Ollivanders now, and the first sight of my mahogany wand. Oh, even the floor-boards were glowing, the wood I had changed to crystal here a week ago - bright, bright, and Lucretia walking with me up the grand staircase of Valery Hall, chattering about the Arts of Love - then it was summer again, all five of us gathered there, arguing over the most interesting charms to use in sea-bathing. And further, further back - to the day we had met Carus Tamino: with all the first-years gathered in a small room before our Sorting, Valery and I had amused ourselves by pretending to be strangers and picking a fight with each other - then, as we threw our flashiest hexes and several boys cried out in alarm, there was one slight, curly-haired plebeian who laughed - and kept laughing even when we threatened to hex him as well, grey eyes dancing as he told us what we could do with our hexes...

Switch sent the Ravenclaw back to his place, with three points.

I clawed my way back to the present, a fierce effort of will focusing my attention on the classroom, on Switch at his desk, quill in hand. Three points. Ten points. I would think of that, hold that thought until the end of the class; then I would work out what was happening to me, what I should do... Ten points to Slytherin. I had done my best - an exceptional spell, yes, for my part of the Triangle of Changes, my path to Mastery. Colors and light, eye of the flower, heart of the serpent, spiralling out and out again... I would be the best...

Albus Dumbledore stood beside the Master's desk.

What a dreary prospect, having to watch him twice in one day. Still floating, still fighting, I glanced past that cursed priggish look of false modesty which always made me queasy. I saw the prefect's badge shining silver against his black robes, the white flower suspended in mid-air, the dark red-brown of the wand... And then Switch nodded to him, and he began.

I made no sound, there in the classroom. The game taught me to control every aspect of the semblance I presented to the world. No sound, as the stem of the flower turned to pure gold and my focus shattered to send me falling forward, helplessly, into the spell.

I stood back next to Valery, looking on. At the same time, it was as if I myself worked those changes - resisting at every step - held, for all my revulsion, by a shaping of magic essentially different from any of my own.

It was the power of the heart, yes, my point of the Triangle - yet not mine, not mine. I experienced Transfiguration as command, imposing my will on the objects of change. This power beckoned, persuaded, virtually invited the changes into being as it drew the flower into its vision, fitting it to an image already complete.

Caught by the colors, I watched the flower respond to the call. Streaming up from the stem of gold, circles of yellow, sulphur and primrose, saffron and dandelion, shading into honey and topaz and amber... I could feel the changes, see how the illusion of concentric rings was created: blindingly fast sequences for the petals within each ring, slowing slightly in between. Tones of red blending in as the rings followed the curves of the flower's sides, then moved inward toward its heart: ochre and carnelian, coral and garnet...

The Transfigured flower shone with the hues of breaking dawn and kindling fire: vivid, beautiful, alien... The hairs on my arms rose in a shudder of gooseflesh and aversion as the force which called those changes carried me into the flower's heart.

It became dragon's blood, steaming, burning with color richer than rubies. And in that instant I tore myself free.

He held the spell, but I was clear of it: shaken, bristling in outrage, still seeing colors everywhere, and longing to curse him to shreds. The chrysanthemum glowed, its Transfiguration complete, perfect. Changes I could have worked myself, changes I'd never have chosen, changes I had felt as if through my own wand... how?

Now Switch was examining the flower, smiling as he produced a few choice compliments for his pet... I ground my teeth. If the old gowk would only stop talking and hand out the inevitable ten points, we could move on and this class might finally end. The colors grew still brighter, and the floor swayed beneath my feet. Get on with it. Ten points to Gryffindor for a damnable degree of skill. My fingers twitched on my wand.

Switch poked at a petal. "This one here - what is it?"

"Raspberry jelly, sir."

I couldn't hold back a soft snort. Dumbledore seemed not to hear, but Switch gave me a sharp glance and Valery's touch on my hand asked a silent question.

"Well, Mr. Dumbledore - an excellent effort! Ten points." The Head of Gryffindor leaned back in his chair, favoring the flower with another approving smile. "And take an extra two points for your creative use of House colors."

My wand moved even before I decided which of them the curse would strike - I wasn't thinking at all, simply acting on an impulse of rage - but Valery was faster. He caught my wrist, standing close enough for both our hands to be hidden by our robes, and I couldn't break his grip.

The impulse faded. Valery released me; I stood in silence while the final two students, Traherne and another Ravenclaw, attempted the task - but as for what they did with it, I neither saw nor cared. My thoughts darted back and forth like a hundred Snitches, and I was lost in wave after wave of bitter, resentful confusion.

House colors, forsooth. Nothing but an Alchemy student's tiresome obsession with gold and dragon's blood. No more.

Stop thinking about crystal. Who had said that to me? Lott's voice, silky in reproof: Does your personal status in that one class take precedence...?

But I had not thought of status, nor of my House, nor even of which material might be the best use of the art of Transfiguration, the best complement to my flower's emerald heart. I'd sought to make a point - to whom? I couldn't remember. Yet it had been important, surely...

That was before I'd felt the changes called forth - gently, inexorably - by a power not my own, and sensed I was not alone on the path to Mastery.

In truth, all this was thoroughly baffling and discomposing. I wearied of it. More pleasant, by far, to watch the shifts of light all around me and let my thoughts float where they would.

An unknown time later, Valery's tug on my sleeve made me realize Switch was dismissing us. Although the world outside my mind seemed very far away, the colors had grown bright enough to hurt my eyes, so I was glad to go. I gathered my books and wandered out of the classroom, vaguely aware of someone at my side in the corridor.

Then Valery grabbed my shoulder and steered me into a privy chamber, hastily spell-locking the door before he swung around to face me.

"What is all this? Julius - whatever got into you, to try that?"

The vehemence in his voice made me blink. "Try what?"

"Did I or did I not keep you from hexing my Head of House back there?"

I nodded solemnly. "And your housemate - don't forget him! If ever anyone richly deserved hexing..."

Valery started to speak, stopped himself, and peered at my face, frowning. I leaned against the wall, gazing back at him with detached interest. Everything suddenly appeared so very comical - especially the colors dancing on the ceiling.

"Julius - "

"Call me Marvolo, Master of Transfiguration!" A tiny ripple of laughter escaped me. "Wasn't that a brilliant spell, Lucan? One of my best ever, you know. Good, wasn't it? Damn you, tell me it was good...!"

"Splendid, magnificent, whatever you say... Now tell me what's wrong with you!"

"Nothing's wrong. Feel rather drunk, that's all. Lucan..." I clutched at his shoulder, giggling. "Know what I'll do in next week's class? No, neither do I - but I'll make damned sure to use Gryffindor colors!"

"You've done something to yourself with that spell, you dolt. And I'm taking you to the Infirmary, now."

"Don't be absurd! I'm going to dinner." I lowered my voice, whispering in his ear. "Have my place at the head of the table, you know. Need to be there - stop status partners killing each other..."

Valery turned away, muttering to himself; the only words I caught were Slytherin and a few expletives. But I wasn't concerned about him, not when everything else seemed so wonderfully clear and deliciously droll. Colors, more and more colors, I'd be the best student, the best wizard, if I stopped thinking of crystal and used more colors, the right colors... I threw back my head and laughed aloud, sending cloud after cloud of rainbow-tinted bubbles from my wand. They filled the small chamber, and at the sight of them I laughed even harder... until a sudden deluge of icy water made me fall silent, gasping for breath.

I looked from the pitcher hovering over my head to Valery, who stood by the wash-stand, wand raised. Water trickled down the back of my neck and dripped down my robes. For a moment I considered which hex would be the most appropriate form of retaliation - then decided that everything was good, even the water, so I'd forgive him. Sent a few more bubbles in his direction. Red and gold. Pretty.

Maybe I wouldn't go to dinner after all. Let them kill each other, it would keep the rest of our House entertained. I hadn't had any fun all week... I'd even missed the illusion Belcore and Valery had worked the evening before. Now I might go flying for an hour or two - then to Central. I could relish a decent game of Changes, or a duel... And I might find someone to share my bed this night; suddenly Perrin Rosier didn't seem like such a unsuitable choice... Oh, but I wanted to do everything at once! Write to Lucretia, yes. Write to my father. Or should I start preparing right now for the next Higher Transfiguration class?

I was in the act of turning to ask Valery this completely reasonable question when his spell hit me.

The colors faded. Some of the addled euphoria drained away. I took a shuddering breath and braced myself against the wall, my head spinning.

"I may be hopeless at Healing, but I can at least cast a Sobriety Charm," he said, looking me over rather warily. "How do you feel now?"

"Odd. Better. I don't know!" I scowled at him. "But I wasn't actually drunk, Lucan - or did that escape your notice?"

"I couldn't think what else to do!" Valery gripped my arms, shaking me. "Come, let's find Carus, he might be able to talk some sense into you - "

"I'm perfectly well!"

Moments later I was being violently sick into one of the privies, while Valery held me in a comforting embrace and called me horrible names.

"You're not going to the Infirmary, are you?" he asked as he watched me clean myself up.

"No. Imagine how it would look, should anyone learn I'd been ill after that class - no, I can't possibly. Do stop staring at me like that, I'm feeling much better - " As indeed I was, if I didn't try to think about what had happened in the classroom. To be sure, I would unravel it all later, understand it and master it - but not now, not while so much else remained to be done, not while any thought of my own spell... or that other spell... brought waves of nausea and spirals of sparkling lights.

A couple of words dried my robes and hair, and I glanced into the small, cracked looking-glass on the wall: yes, that would do, only a little paler than usual. The deep blue eyes of my reflection were steady, unreadable. It would have to do.

"You're looking a trifle peaky, dear," the glass remarked. "What you need is a nice 'ot cuppa tea."

"Oh, hush!" I cast a Silencing Charm on it, just in case it felt like gossiping to anyone else about certain students looking peaky.

As we moved to leave, I placed a hand on his arm. "My thanks, Lucan... for your presence here... and back in class, also. Even for that charm, quite incompetent though it was - "

"My pleasure." His wide mouth curved in a slow smile. "Besides, you'll have to be so very civil to me from now on, will you not? Or I'll tell everybody about this - starting with - oh, Traherne, or Gerson, or maybe Malfoy?"

"Lucan!"

"What, you'd hex me for flagrant mimicry of Slytherins?" Laughing, he skipped through the doorway as I raised my wand in mock-threat.

I followed, shaking my head. His jest was welcome, in a way, but all the same... no one must hear of this. I forced myself to breathe evenly and walk beside Valery with my usual self-assured stride; but I suspected that if I were to question that unnervingly perceptive parchment just then, it might tell me I was feeling frightened. I needed no aid to know I also felt angry and profoundly confused.

Perhaps I would speak to my father through the fire after all...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scenting trouble as soon as we reached the entrance hall, I moved to meet it as I had been taught to do.

When facing a crowd of uncertain disposition... Yes, many more people than usual in here, loud talk and laughter, heads turning as I descended the last steps of the great staircase - so this did concern me, whatever it was... My eyes skimmed the crowd, noting who stood with whom, picking out the eldest sons, reading the signs in gesture and stance, gauging status and potential threat. I extended my hearing to catch as many conversations as possible. And I drew my wand.

It was a measure of my own state of mind that when I heard Dumbledore Minor's name repeated on all sides, my first thought was of Emeric the Evil Sheep.

No - surely that tale wouldn't cause such a stir, this was worse than when he'd turned the newts inside-out in Transfiguration... Then I caught the word broomstick, and understood.

"Oh, Hades," I breathed to Valery. "I forgot all about his flying class!"

His dismayed look said he'd forgotten it as well - but there was no shortage of voices to tell us.

"Martin was absolutely livid - "

"Oh, if he'd dared say that to me, I'd have - "

"He'll not show his face at dinner - "

"Chasing after broomsticks, what excellent sport!"

"They fled him, truly?"

"Like a flock of scared pigeons - "

"Maybe they feared he'd turn them into spiders?"

" - or sheep!"

"Silence!" My voice knifed through the crowd like ice-cold wind, stilling their gabbling. The light touch of diffuse Imperius helped. Looking around again, I saw Belcore and Tamino hastening to my side, from opposite directions.

Dumbledore Minor was nowhere to be seen. Neither were any Masters. And if Lott and Switch had not already swooped down to restore order here, then they did not consider it important - or, in their thrice-cursed wisdom, they had deliberately decided to leave this to me. Generous of them.

He was my status partner, damn him: whatever he had done, it would be viewed as if I had done it myself.

But the one great relief was that I no longer faced any need for courtesy or restraint. My pulse pounded painfully in my temples, and the colors all around were slightly too bright... but I still led in the game. I could take the wand of anyone in this crowd. I was the Marvolo heir, and, by the Furies, they would bend to my will - or I'd turn them all into sheep. Deformed, pustulent, six-legged sheep.

"McKinnon. Trimble." The highest-ranking first-year Slytherins stepped forward as swiftly as they would have done in our own common-room. "What happened, and where is he?"

"Don't know, I swear - "

"He couldn't fly! No broom would have him!" McKinnon's high-pitched voice was still breathless with the mirth this had evidently aroused among all Dumbledore Minor's year-mates, but he and Trimble sobered fast under my glare. I drew the essential tale from them in moments.

When the first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered for their flying lesson, Dumbledore Minor hadn't even got as far as attempting to call his broomstick to his hand. As he approached, the broom backed away from him - and kept moving, eluding his awkward efforts to catch it. The flying instructor, a notoriously short-tempered wizard named Mr. Martin, had curtly told him to use another broomstick. That one fled even faster. The other boys doubled over laughing as Martin and Dumbledore Minor gave chase - and then, as if the first two broomsticks had conveyed their panic to their fellows, all the brooms rose into the air and scattered. The furious Martin had ordered Dumbledore Minor back to the castle, saying...

But McKinnon and Trimble seemed most reluctant to repeat Martin's words to me. Impatient with their juvenile attempts at evasiveness, I waved them aside and looked around for the first-year Gryffindors. They were not among the crowd.

"Who else was there? Speak!"

"Why, gladly! Out for a stroll, saw the whole thing, what a spectacle - " If a voice could be said to bustle, this one did.

I suppressed a groan. Esslin. Why did it have to be Esslin?

The heir of the family ranked ninety-fourth was the product of a temporary marriage alliance with an obscure line that had plebeian blood in the previous generation. A mesalliance; the general opinion confirmed when the resulting son had been Sorted into Hufflepuff, indicating he was unsuited to the game. Lord Esslin had made the appropriate response, seeking a new marriage and producing another son. Nobody really expected this Esslin heir to survive to maturity.

In fact, it was often said other heirs would draw lots for the pleasure of killing him once he was of an age for duels to the death. The notion of silencing Hufflepuff's sixth-year prefect permanently was so irresistibly tempting.

"Briefly, Esslin." At least his complete lack of discretion should ensure that I heard precisely what had been said.

"Oh, certainly! Only too delighted to be of assistance, Marvolo - why, I couldn't believe my eyes and ears, damnedest show I've seen for ages - what with all those brooms flying in all directions, and Martin yelling at them - and that peculiar child looking like he was about to have a fit right there - such a shame about him being in Slytherin, isn't it? The way people talk of him, dear chap, shocking - "

"Esslin! Tell me what Martin said. Now." My wand pointed at his chest.

His large, vacant blue eyes opened still wider. "But that's exactly what I was about to do - my goodness, yes, Martin was most agitated, with his own broom flying off as well - said something about a disgrace to the school... And then - ah, yes! Told the boy it was unfortunate that his wand hadn't done the same as those broomsticks before it ever made the error of choosing him." Esslin, being Esslin, repeated the appalling insult with a blithe little smile.

An insult to me, indirectly. Gods, that lunatic Martin... And where was Dumbledore Minor?

"Has no one seen him since then?" Some of the Slytherins in the crowd may have caught the underlying hiss in my voice. "Did he return to the dungeons?"

"He did not. I've looked." Belcore, sounding unusually subdued; but when his eyes met mine the message in them was plain: Let him go, and good riddance.

As I tried to think of where else Dumbledore Minor might have sought to hide, there was a disturbance in the crowd.

"Let us through! We've got his wand!"

Several very young Gryffindors were pushing their way past older students. They paused, suddenly uncertain, in the clear space before me - then one who appeared to be their leader stepped forward. All I noticed about him was a shock of carroty hair and large ears.

The first-year boy directed his words to the gap between myself and Valery. "We went looking for him! And found this - " He held out an unmistakable length of rowan-wood. "On the ground, by the lake - "

"Ha! So did he decide to duck himself, to test if he's truly a wizard?" Esslin seemed quite unaware of the annoyed murmurs among those who heard his remark.

"That was in exceptionally poor taste, even for you, Esslin." Belcore's hazel eyes held a caustic glint as he went on, drawing his wand. "I'd counsel you to leave, now, before someone teaches you a lesson about the history of your own line..."

Esslin looked puzzled for a moment; then shrugged and withdrew, whistling as he walked into the Great Hall. Very likely, I was not alone in feeling grateful to Belcore.

The young Gryffindor made to leave as well, but I stopped him, diverted by a moment of curiosity. That he should venture to speak to me at all - unusual, indeed, given the gulf between us. "I've seen you before - you're his Potions partner, aren't you... What's your name? And why did you seek him?" Was there something he wanted from Dumbledore Minor - or from me?

"Um... I'm Hal Weasley..." He glanced up at me rather shyly, biting his lip.

"Brother to those two nitwits who think they're Charms Masters." Valery's whisper in my ear held a thread of laughter.

This Weasley was fidgeting now, unsure what to do with his hands; he settled for holding them behind his back as he continued. "All that fuss with the broomsticks - well, we shouldn't have laughed at him, really... though it was jolly funny..." He trailed off, then took a deep breath, and his next words came out in a rush. "But still, it was mean of us to laugh so hard - and what the teacher said, that was awful mean - so I wanted to find him and say sorry, that's all. I like him, he's a decent sort of fellow, really - and - and - well, there's nothing that dreadful about being Muggle-born, is there? Just look at his brother - " There he stopped, very suddenly; whatever he saw in my face made him turn bright red and start backing away. A reminder, perhaps, that I was not at all in the habit of conversing with plebeian first-year Gryffindors.

"My thanks, Weasley Tertius!" Valery called after him, grinning. Then, turning to me, he whispered, "Oh, Julius - you scared off Dumbledore's elf!"

No time to even begin forming an appropriate response to that... Too many students still lingered in the entrance hall, waiting to see what I'd do, whether moved by concern for status or pure nosiness.

Among them I saw Vesalius Delacroix, leaning against a banister at the foot of the staircase, arms folded and thin lips curved in a smirk.

I met his eyes, and as I did so I raised my wand and called the wizarding fire: flames played along the smooth mahogany, silver and green and blue, cold against my hand. Delacroix scowled, and I turned away from him, satisfied. Message conveyed: My status is secure enough to withstand this blow - what of yours?

A sensitive point for this particular eldest son. The fire burned for Masters, or those on the path to Mastery, and he had never been able to call it - yet his brother had done so. What a dilemma for the Delacroix: a younger son Sorted into Slytherin, his wand aflame with the wizarding fire... What an apt reminder for the heir, now.

Holding the fire, I strode toward the castle's front doors, the crowd parting before me, with more than a few uneasy or envious glances at the blazing wand. Belcore, Valery, and Tamino followed, and I paused in the doorway, considering what to tell them. My three friends gathered close, all looking at me, avoiding the eyes of each other.

I glanced at Valery as I let the flame die. He smiled back, and I knew we were both thinking of Lucretia - who had first called the fire in her thirteenth year. No trouble for the Valerys there. Lucan, the ideal younger son; that very same lack of ambition which I found such a trial in Transfiguration classes also kept the peace between him and Ciebel, his elder brother. Lucretia, with her flames of scarlet and green and black promising Mastery: a witch, no threat to the heir. All as it should be, and chaos take the Delacroix line...

"You're going after him, I suppose?" Belcore still seemed to hope for a negative reply.

"Aulus, be reasonable! What else can I do? Imagine that damned Martin gloating if the brat should disappear now - " I sighed, looking away from him. A loud meow drew my attention to Warrington's cat, sniffing at my robes; I leaned down for a moment to scratch its ginger head.

"I'm coming with you."

"You are not, Lucan." I glared at him, tired of this. "Leave off, you've done enough - I'm well, completely well, and besides, I need you to - "

"You're not going by yourself." Valery moved closer, looking as if he'd like to douse me with cold water again. "No, listen to me - you're white as chalk, and you're about to start throwing curses in all directions - I can tell! If not me... then - " Almost hesitantly, he glanced at Tamino. "Carus?"

Tamino still hadn't said a word to Belcore or Valery. Now he spoke as if he and I were alone. "I'm sorry, Julius. I took your parchment to Divination, and Lott confiscated it... He said it was distracting me." Tamino gave me a soft, rueful smile. "And he's right, it was, I've hardly even thought about my Equinox display all day... Lott said you're to see him and he'll give it back to you."

I didn't want to go looking for Dumbledore Minor. Not at all. And now I realized that I certainly didn't want to do this alone.

"Will you come with me, then? A request, Carus."

Tamino simply nodded; and Valery let out a loud sigh of relief.

I turned to Belcore, keeping my tone light, aware of his touchy mood. "Well, the head of the table is yours this night!" Warrington's cat was now rubbing itself around my ankles, purring in anticipation of dinner. I scooped it up and dumped it in Belcore's arms. "Now you can go tell Warrington to feed this beast... and if Malfoy challenges you, try Worm-Ears - or Cruciatus - or both. Fair fortune to you!" Belcore made a face at me, but did not seem entirely displeased. He walked off toward the door of the Great Hall, still carrying the cat.

"Save me some food!" I called after him, and he raised a hand briefly in reply - also his way of saying fair fortune, perhaps.

One more message to convey. "Lucan. Go to the High Table, right now, and tell Switch. No, not Lott - Switch - I'd like to know what he says!"

Valery nodded, though he still appeared slightly perplexed.

I ran a hand through my hair, thinking furiously. "Tell Switch I'll find him, I'll bring him back... Gods, that confounded flying lesson - I should have known there'd be trouble with Martin, why didn't I - oh, damn him! First the cauldron, then the sheep, now this - I'll bring him back in a thousand pieces!" Then I remembered something else. "And why didn't you tell me - that elf business?"

He gave me an innocent look. "Didn't wish to upset you. It's a House matter, anyway... Poor little Weasley Tertius, he's utterly mashed on Dumbledore - follows him around, or at least tries to - and Dumbledore didn't even want an elf, but the other prefects insisted, told him it's tradition..." Valery shrugged. "Still, the boy's a smart one, quite good at Potions, apparently. Seems to like your status partner, too. Where's the harm in that?"

I turned away, starting down the stone steps. "Get rid of him," I said to Valery over my shoulder. "Find another first-year to do it. I don't care for that one."

Tamino was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. And I still held the rowan wand as we set out together toward the shore of the lake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

If you want to be notified when this fic sprouts its next chapter, if you have questions, if you just want to talk about the 19th century Potterverse... We have a list now. Three cheers and goblets of absinthe for all.
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Marvoloverse

Thank you to all reviewers of Chapters One and Two!

Welcome - childofsnow, Storm, Ariana Deralte, Tidmag, RockKing69, Alchemine, Faith Accompli, Sarah Black, Weaver, and thistlemeg. I'll do my best to keep you entertained enough to read on.

Tidmag: where am I going with this? Right through the 19th century, I hope.
Ariana Deralte: Thanks for the lovely at-length comments! Hang in there for an explanation of the witch situation. Hogwarts is due to start accepting witches again within a couple of decades. Reasons are part of the historical web I'm spinning here. Your duel scenario is... ingenious... but it won't happen that way. :-) And I'm so glad to hear you're curious about the Dumbledore family. By the way - think Aberforth and Uric would get along?
Alchemine: I'm in suspense. Did you make it through the next chapter or not? Have some more absinthe, anyway. :-)
Weaver: Thanks for that amazing review on your site! Wow, I'm totally flattered. I'll try not to degenerate. ;-)
thistlemeg: Thanks for reading, thanks for noticing that Parseltongue line, and good luck with those finals!

Thanks to everyone who's expressed a liking for the Dumbledore brothers! Yes, there will be lots more about them.

Thanks for reading and commenting on the bits of this chapter as it wove itself together... to teluekh, of course (who insisted that the little Weasley had to be named Hal); and Riley, Keket, jodel, Dorothy. And a number of the kind hearts and fine minds at witchfics.org - Juliane, Catherine Cook, Lev, Hecate, Hypatia, Vulgarweed, Frances, Katrina, Anna. {gratefully waving an antimacassar in your general direction}

Thanks to Fidelis Haven for the Julius ref (combined with a Guy Gavriel Kay ref! woo-hoo!) in Chapter 10 of her delightful 1940s Slythfic, which has sixth-year Tom Riddle and some of the best damn OCs ever. The Serpentine Chain at http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=631464

Although I'm not writing Julius/Albus here, anyone who thinks that ship has potential should certainly check out teluekh's slashy AU: Nights in the Snake Pit at http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=759465

Next up: Desperately seeking Dumbledore Minor. And Carus Tamino will do magic tricks with his lute and some rocks.