Chapter Three: The First Boring Weeks of School

On the first morning of the fall term, receiving their new schedules traditionally threw the Ravenclaws into throes of joy at the thought of the knowledge that lay in store for them. Slytherins were different. In general, it just made them mad.

"I don't believe it!" said Bruce hotly. "Potions and Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors -- again!"

"Get over it, Brucey," Melissa sighed, patting him on the back. "It's never going to change."

"Tell me about it," grumbled Bruce, as he looked across the Great Hall to where the Weasley twins were making bits of bacon talk to each other.

"We've got Arithmancy with the Hufflepuffs," Mervin told Beth. "All those hard workers'll make us look bad."

Beth looked down at her own schedule for the first time. "D.A.D.A, Charms, and Arithmancy," she read aloud. "Alchemy III, Transfig, Care of Magical Creatures -- should have opted out of that one -- Potions, good ... hang on, what do you have Wednesday afternoon?"

Bruce looked at his paper. "Apparator's Education. Huh, I didn't sign up for that."

"Well, I've got Career Counseling," said Beth, "and I didn't sign up for that either. What do you have, Mel?"

Melissa had Apparator's Education with Bruce, but Mervin was in Beth's class. Going up and down the table, they found that the sixth-years were about evenly split between the two. "I wonder what that's all about?" said Mervin.

Beth shrugged. "Who knows. By the way, I never got to talk to you last night on the train. What've you been up to all summer?"

To her surprise, Mervin let out a long groan. "I," he said, in a tone of ultimate suffering, "spent all summer working on the farm."

Melissa looked at him blankly. "The ... farm?"

"Yeah, family farm. You know -- winged horses? All summer long." He tapped his schedule. "I don't need this Career Counseling thing to know that I never want to do that ever again."

"I thought you liked animals," said Beth.

Mervin made a face. "I like the cute ones, not the big smelly ones." No one commented on his conviction that a tattered rat and a twelve-foot-long snake could be "cute".

"So why'd you do it?" said Melissa, biting into a muffin.

"It was the only way I could get my parents to cough up the money for tickets to the World Cup," said Mervin. "And then they made me go with my great uncle Mundungus, all he had by way of a tent was a cloak and some sticks. But he's told the Ministry he had this huge wonderful tent, and they'll never know the difference."

Beth grinned even while scratching at her poison ivy. True to Madame Pomfrey's prediction, it had multiplied during the night, with gruesome results. She had the sleeve of her uniform rolled up. Bandages or no bandages, anti-itch potion or no anti-itch potion, the wool was driving her crazy.

Professor Snape swept past just then, cold and regal in robes that somehow looked blacker than everyone else's. He cast a careless glance at the sixth-years ... then he did a double-take and paused in front of the table.

Beth had seen Professor Snape display an astonishing range of emotions -- from irritation to anger to absolute fury -- but she had never seen him look startled. The surprise quickly faded from his face and was shielded by a carefully cool exterior. "Miss Parson ... your arm."

"It's poison ivy," she explained. "It got into my school robes somehow."

Snape relaxed. "I wish you a speedy recovery," he said, and swept past.

Beth and Melissa looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Mervin let out a low whistle. "Snape's a little uptight this year, don't you think?"

"I'll bet I can guess why," said Melissa. She gestured to the head table, where Professor Moody was bent over the table, sniffing suspiciously at a bowl of corn flakes. "Ugh, he's enough to give anyone a fright." At that very moment, Moody's large magical eye rolled in the direction of the Slytherins. Beth and her friends hastily lowered their heads and concentrated on breakfast.

For a while they ate in a hush. Then Bruce turned to Beth and said, "So that poison ivy 'got in your robes somehow', is that it?"

"Heh," said Beth. "It's not worth ratting on the Weasleys if we haven't got good proof it was them."

"Snape wouldn't need proof," Bruce pointed out. The bell rang for classes and students reluctantly began to leave the table. "He'd give them a detention if you asked him. What do we have first?"

"Transfiguration," sighed Melissa. "What a way to start the week."

"Could be worse," said Beth. "We could have to deal with all the Gryffindors at once."

True to tradition, the sixth-year Slytherins went to class in a pack. They commanded more respect as a group; seven brains got you a better insult than just one. It was also easier to get through the halls if you had Warrington in front of you.

Of course, none of that stopped a really determined antagonist ... or a pair of them.

"Looking a bit yellow, Bletchley?" came a familiar gleeful voice.

"I wondered which one got the Squidface Powder," an identical voice chimed in.

"Then which one of them got the Arborocephal Paste?" grinned the other Weasley, who had spoken first.

"I think you should be more worried about which one of you I'm going to kill first," growled Bruce, starting towards them with fists cocked.

"Fighting on the first day, Bletchley?" said one of the Weasleys, not moving an inch. "You can get in trouble for that."

"It would be worth every --" Bruce began, but a crisp voice cut in over his words.

"Is there a problem here? Mr. Bletchley? Misters Weasley?"

"Of course not, Professor," said one of the Weasleys gallantly.

"Never, Professor," the other echoed.

McGonagall cast a swift look at Bruce.

"No," Bruce grunted reluctantly.

"I thought as much," said Professor McGonagall starchly. "Now get along with you all. It will never do to be late for the first class of the year."

The Gryffindors retreated and Professor McGonagall ushered the Slytherins into her classroom for Transfiguration.

Transfiguration was no different than it had ever been. It was their second class that the Slytherins were interested in -- Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the ferocious and mysterious Mad-Eye Moody.

Professor Moody was already in the classroom when they arrived. His ordinary eye was fixed on the doorway (the other kept looking behind him as if he expected somebody to come sneaking out from behind the blackboard) and he gave everyone a careful scrutiny as they came in.

"Sixth-year Slytherins," he growled, even before everyone had fully seated themselves. There was a quick scramble to get ready for the lecture. "Old enough to know right from wrong, you lot." Beth exchanged a bemused glance with Melissa. "Old enough to make choices ..." He clasped his hands behind his back and strode out from behind his desk. "Old enough ... to have enemies."

There was a dead silence. Aaron very discreetly wrote "Loony" on his notebook and showed it to Warrington who, very indiscreetly, laughed.

Immediately Professor Moody's eyes fixed on Warrington. "Haven't got any enemies, have you ..." he glanced down at the class roll. "... Warrington?"

The smile gradually faded from Warrington's dim face.

"Well let me tell you," said Moody, beginning to pace back and forth, "there are wizards who don't care if you're just sixteen -- they don't care if you're good looking or a Slytherin or smart or strong -- there are wizards who'll take out anything in their way. Could be you."

Antigone made a noise of impatience and tossed her hair.

Professor Moody ignored her. "There's only one way to be safe: constant, unceasing vigilance." He whirled on the class. "D'you hear that? CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Very well," said Professor Moody calmly, "roll call."

Professor Moody took the roll quickly. At nearly every name he would give a "Hmph," or "Of course," or fix the student in question with a piercing glare. At Mervin's name he looked up and said, "I know your great-uncle. Good man."

"He's a nutter," said Mervin, without a hint of embarrassment.

"That he is," Moody agreed, and went back to calling out Melissa's name. (He barely reacted to the fact that she was an Ollivander, which put her in something of a huff for the rest of the day.) Finally he put down the list of names, clapped his hands together, and said, "Curses. You've had a bit of grounding so far, haven't you?"

Some of them nodded.

"Then let's go deeper," said Moody. "Do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law? The Unforgivable curses?"

To Beth's left, Antigone tensed very slightly. They hadn't been taught the Unforgivable curses yet. But which one of them hadn't teased about Avada-Kedavering the Weasley twins, or threatened to Cruciatus one of their classmates? No, discretion was the name of the game when it came to the Dark Arts. Professor Moody was faced with a sea of unraised hands.

"Anyone? The Forbidden Curses?"

No one moved.

Moody's good eye narrowed and he gazed around at them. "Don't tell me you lot don't know the Forbidden Curses," he said quietly. There was silence. "No? Bunch of innocents, are you?" Beth hazarded a glance at Bruce, who was making a very obvious effort to hold his tongue.

Moody looked down at his class list. "Pucey!" he barked. Aaron jumped. "What would you do, Pucey, if I told you I was going to use the Cruciatus curse on you?"

"Tell my father and have you fired," Aaron said promptly.

To everyone's great surprise, Professor Moody threw back his head and laughed. "I'd expect no less!" he roared. "Slytherin, indeed."

He looked down at the class rolls and stroked his grizzled chin. "Remus Lupin left me a note about you lot. Seems you didn't take well to the boggart he brought into class. Well, can't say that I blame you ... All right, I'll play your game if you play mine. Everyone get yer quills ready. The first, though hardly the kindest, of the Unforgivables is the Imperius Curse ..."

They took a few notes before Moody took out a jar of spiders and demonstrated each of the Unforgivable Curses on them. (The spiders, not the students.) The Slytherins were completely silent throughout the demonstration. Even confidentially, nobody admitted to ever having seen one of the Unforgivable curses actually performed; and while everyone did an admirable job of keeping a straight face while watching the spiders, Beth was pretty sure that few of them had. When Moody sent them packing with a pile of homework, they all managed to avoid chattering to one another about what they had seen. Beth was almost out the door when she heard Moody's voice behind her.

"Parson!"

Beth turned toward him uncertainly. "Yes?"

"What's that on your arm?"

"It's bandages, sir," she said, making a sincere effort not to sound sarcastic or patronizing.

Moody curled his lip. "All right, Parson, very cute. What's under the bandages?"

"Poison ivy." She scratched at her forearm to prove it.

"Hmm." Moody's good eye gave her a very suspicious look while his magical one whisked over her bandages. Annoyed, Beth stood and fidgeted until he nodded brusquely. "All right then, go on."

"Thank you," said Beth, although she didn't really think she should be thanking someone for letting her do what she was perfectly entitled to. She hurried and caught up with her classmates outside of the Career Counseling classroom. Some of the students from other houses had already arrived. The Ravenclaws already had their quills out and ready.

"That Moody, he's all right," said Aaron, as they hijacked a cluster of seats in the back.

"I guess," said Beth. She didn't think much of someone who would question an injury, of all things.

"He arrested my great-uncle Mundungus," said Mervin. "Twice. Turns out they were both secretly on the same side. My uncle got him back though. Sent him a carriage clock shaped like a basilisk egg. Nice, evil way to scare him to death."

"He arrested four of my cousins, too," said Aaron blithely. "Death Eaters, the lot of them. Mum still goes to see them sometimes -- not that it helps, they're all stark mad and all, but she likes to keep up on family."

Mervin laughed. Beth was silent.

Just then the door banged shut and the sound of crisp footsteps clattered sharply across the stone floor. Everyone turned to the front of the room. Madame Pince, the lean and imperious librarian, slammed a pile of parchments onto the front desk and stood there with her arms crossed. Everyone hastily took their seats.

"For those of you who find research and study a waste of time, I am Madam Pince, your librarian here at Hogwarts." The Ravenclaws all looked rather smug at already knowing her name. "It is the wish of Headmaster Dumbledore that you grow into productive, respectable citizens; therefore, I am called away from my efforts in the library to advise you concerning your futures." She did not appear to be thrilled with the arrangement.

"I am going to warn you now. Most of you will not grow up to be Quidditch players, professional musicians or clothing models. You will probably also not be the Minister of Magic or a famous giant killer. And while there are many excellent careers to be had in the broomstick industry, daredevil stunt-flying high-speed tester is not one of them."

"There go my life plans," said one of the Weasleys.

His classmates laughed and Madame Pince fixed him with a blistering glare. "Then you are in the right place, Mr. Weasley," she said crisply, "for you will shortly be directed in a whole new career path." She produced a stack of scrolls and sent them flying out among the students, who snagged them out of the air as they whizzed past. "This is a brief quiz to help you determine your strengths, skills and interests. Your answers will guide you to a career for which you are well suited. Begin." She remained standing, cold and vulturelike behind the desk.

Beth unrolled her form and looked over the questions. She had never seen a more boring questionnaire in her life, including that History of Magic test in third year when they had to match the goblin rebels to the year they had revolted. Well, there was only one thing to do: grit her teeth and get to work. She pulled out her quill.

Half an hour later, she filled out the last answer. The results, it seemed, were instantaneous: each time she answered another question, the paper would subtly change color. Her classmates now held parchments of a vast variety of hues. Beth's own test had veered towards a dark blue; beside her, Mervin's was pale orange and clashed badly with his hair. She amused herself by trying to guess what her classmates' colors meant until Madame Pince (who had not seated herself throughout the entire class) pulled a chart down from the ceiling and said crisply, "I trust you have all finished. Now pay attention."

The Weasleys exchanged raised eyebrows. Madame Pince took up her wand and began to point out the various colors on the chart. Each one, it seemed, represented a career area; you could get more specific direction by looking at the shade.

"Administration," said Madame Pince, tapping the red area of the chart. "Communication. Sales. Manufacturing. Research." She pointed out a different color for each word. "Teaching. Philosophy."

Aaron raised his hand.

"Mr. Pucey."

Aaron pointed at the chart. "Madam Pince," he said, face a mask of innocent confusion, "there's no Death Eater on there."

There was a mixture of muffled giggles and horrified gasps. Mervin guffawed and gave Aaron a high-five. Madam Pince remained completely unruffled.

"I think that you will find, Mr. Pucey, that the role of Death Eater rarely serves as a primary career. It is more often pursued as a sideline or hobby. Pay attention," she finished, in her coldest, most severe tone. Aaron, cowed, hunched over his paper. The Weasleys sniggered identically.

Interpreting the results of their career tests were at least vaguely interesting. Beth discovered that she was destined to be either a teacher, a wizard accountant, or a researcher, unless she became a professional singer, secretary, or nun. Mervin's top job area was in law enforcement, to his horror, and Aaron was directed into sales, to his disgust. The Weasely twins were clearly delighted with being sent into sales and manufacture; interestingly, they had come up with different shades of the same color. Madame Pince spent a little time describing each area and sent them on their way with plenty of homework to do concerning their specified career areas.

She caught Beth as the rest of the students filed out the door.

"Miss Parson," she said, indicating Beth's arm, "you've had an accident over the summer, have you?"

"It's poison ivy," Beth said, sick to death of being asked about it, "and it wasn't an accident, the Weasley twins stuffed it down my school robes on the train!"

"I see." Madame Pince's lips puckered severely. "Have you considered retribution?"

"I can't come up with anything bad enough," Beth sighed.

Madame Pince began collecting her things from the top of her desk. "I could fail them."

"You'd do that?"

"After what they did to the school copy of The Beater's Bible? Miss Parson, they are lucky to be alive."

Beth grinned. "I think maybe I'd better wreak my own vengeance. Thanks, though."

"Very well." Madame Pince picked up her things. "Oh yes -- Madame Pomfrey tells me that one of the third-year Slytherins is in the hospital wing with a sudden case of lockjaw. You'll want to keep an eye on him so that he doesn't completely disable himself before his induction."

"Oh -- the curse, right," Beth laughed. "Nobody's come down with that since Melissa. I'll warn the others. Thanks!"

She hurried off to Alchemy.

Beth slipped inside just as Professor Vector was handing around the new textbooks. Professor Snape was in a front corner of the room with his arms crossed; he arched an eyebrow only slightly as Beth, red-faced, slid into a seat just as the chime was sounding for class to begin. She accepted her textbook from Professor Vector and hastily got out her notebook.

"Welcome back, middears," said Professor Vector warmly, her Scottish brogue as quirky and endearing as ever. "Faith, 'tis an excellent plan we have for ye this year. Professor Snape, if ye'd do the honors."

Professor Snape swept to the front of the room, dousing Vector's cheeriness in the chill that always seemed to radiate from his person. "This year you will be responsible for completing a project of no small complexity," he said, soft voice low and cold. "You have now been immersed in this subject for two full years. The time has come to test what you claim to have learned."

Oh help, thought Beth. She could barely remember last year's curriculum.

"On your way out you will collect a piece of paper which describes the requirements for this final project. Let me summarize them now. They include: Conception of an idea and thorough research therein; potion which has been perceptibly altered from its original form; and a completed report about your alterations."

The freckled Hufflepuff, Stebbins, raised his hand dubiously. "How long --"

"Fifty feet, Mr. Stebbins, and filler material will not be tolerated."

The Alchemy students exchanged horrified looks.

"Very well. Consider yourselves warned." Professor Snape retreated and allowed Professor Vector to take the floor, who beamed round at them all effusively.

"We're very excited to see what projects ye choose," said Professor Vector enthusiastically. "Won't it be fun?"

The students, open-mouthed, could not reply.

***

Before Beth had fully adjusted to the new school year -- with the ferocious new D.A.D.A. professor who turned Draco into a ferret on the very first day, class with Madame Pince, the Alchemy project, and some horrifying new creatures of Hagrid's called Blast-Ended Skrewts -- it was Thursday night, with something comfortably familiar: the first Society for Slytherin Advancement meeting of the year.

Most of the other members had crept out at around ten thirty that evening. Beth, as secretary, stayed behind in the common room. She would be helping to escort the new members to the Vase Room for the first time.

She was thumbing listlessly through her new Alchemy book and thinking in very vague terms about the project ahead. It didn't seem like a horrible lot of work -- surely if she focused, and worked on it a little every day, it would be possible --

She snorted to herself. "Give me a break, Parson, you've never been that disciplined in your life," she said aloud, tossing the book aside.

"What's that again?" came a cheery voice from behind her. Richard Shaw came and plunked down in the armchair beside her.

"Just griping about my Alchemy project," Beth said. "It's going to be a beast."

"Oh -- yes, of course, my classmate Cassius has that. Has it in mind to develop an antidote to Veritaserum. Strange fellow, Cassius."

"At least he's started thinking about it," said Beth. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Richard arched an eyebrow. "You could always just turn in your modifications to Polyjuice Potion."

"And get blamed for that missing boomslang skin?" Beth grinned back. "I'd rather fail."

Richard laughed. "You'll come up with something. Oh, I say -- I never did get to ask how your brother was getting along."

His spoke in a completely normal tone. Beth was grateful; so often the subject of her ex-convict brother was approached either too delicately or too boisterously, leaving everybody feeling awkward. It was a relief to treat it like an ordinary subject. Still, she hesitated before she spoke.

"He's doing his best," she said at last. "He's been so nice to me -- it's so good to finally meet him ..." She blushed pink. "He's trying hard to adjust ... he has a Muggle job and all, at a gas station down the road." She smiled. "I spent half of June teaching him to ride a bike, just so he could get there every day. He's doing all right." She didn't mention the nights when he would wake them both up with a garbled scream as he fought out of a nightmare.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Richard. He settled down into his chair. "I haven't any brothers or sisters, and I haven't the foggiest idea what it would be like to have one ..." For a moment he sounded a bit wistful. Then he turned to Beth and smiled, with eyes that she suddenly noticed were pleasantly brown. "Well, life falls as it may. Least I've got the Society."

"Definitely," said Beth.

"They're an interesting pair this year," said Richard mentioned, indicating the two students across the room. "Oren and Audra. An ... unusual couple of students."

Beth turned around in her chair to catch a glimpse of the third-years.

The S.S.A. couldn't have chosen two more opposite inductees if they had tried. The boy was tall and dark-skinned, with tight black curls and bright, clever eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses. He was slaving over a first-level Arithmancy book, and obviously enjoying it. The girl sat beside him, placidly reading. She was tiny, and so fair that her hair shone white. Her blue eyes were lazy beneath their lids. The merest trace of a cat's smile touched her lips.

"Interesting," Beth agreed. She yawned hugely. "How much longer do we have to wait?"

Richard checked his wristwatch. "Fifteen minutes. Go on, I'll wake you up when it's time."

"No ..." Beth sat up a little straighter. "I can wait it out."

They chatted about work and school until the clock struck eleven-thirty; then they dragged the two third-years away from their books and guided them through the dark hallways to the Vase Room. (Richard wouldn't tell them where they were going; he loved being cryptic. The boy was so excited that he didn't seem to care. The girl didn't register an opinion either way.)

They made good time, and before long Richard had exclaimed, "Ouch! My toe!" and the door to the Vase Room appeared in the blank wall and swung open.

The other members had apparently finished their business and were now sitting around making idle conversation in different pockets of the room. Herne Rudisille hovered awkwardly near a vase where Evan Wilkes stood with his hands in his pockets. Beth passed in time to hear Herne say:

"You've got to stop it, Evan. He was seriously mad."

"Good," said Evan coldly.

"Look, it hurts all of us ..." Herne caught sight of the newcomers and trailed off. "Just think about what I've said?"

Evan did not answer.

The Vase Room looked the same as it always did: opulent with wall-to-wall vases and cauldrons in every shape and size. A second Special Award for Services to the School had been added to the shelf. Both of them were rewards from Dumbledore after the S.S.A. had saved the lives of Harry Potter and one or more or his companions. The headquarters was like a second home to Beth; she went straight to her stool behind the Ledger, while the inductees took in the gorgeous furnishings for the first time.

Bruce leaned over to Melissa and hissed, "Do they always look that young?"

"It's just that we're so old," Melissa murmured back.

That may have been partly true, but Beth thought that these two were especially youthful. While the boy seemed to be an ordinarily chipper thirteen, the white-haired girl looked scarcely older than ten. Her wise eyes were strange in her calm, childish face; they made her seem ageless.

Beth entered their names carefully into the Ledger while Richard gave the standard speech: they were joining a secret Slytherin organization created to further the house by solving the mysteries of Hogwarts castle and helping its members in their quests for personal greatness; there had been 127 inductees over the past fifty-four years; the rings, which Melissa slid onto their fingers, could only be seen by someone else wearing a Society ring, and would allow them to identify other members at any time. Beth noticed that he left out that the Society had been founded by a certain Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort, and also the fact that of all the inductees, about fifty of them were either dead or in Azkaban. Of those remaining, at least two -- Randall Riggs and Ebenezer Nott -- were known Voldemort supporters. The Society had done a lot of good in its lifetime, Beth thought with a sigh, but it had done a lot of damage as well.

With the inductions finished, the actual meeting began. Richard stood at the front of the room for several long moments, looking out at each of them in turn. Finally he leaned over the podium towards them, gripping the sides with his hands.

"Well, chaps," he said, "this is my last year to win back the House Cup."

There was a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Slytherin hasn't lost the Cup for four years running for some three decades now," he went on, "and I don't intend to break that record. We're getting it back if it kills us. Here's who's going to help us do it." He gestured towards the third-years, who exchanged glances. "Oren Bergeron and Audra Verona. Oren's sharp at building things. Not just magical things, either." Oren flushed even darker. "Audra notices things, and she's all Slytherin. In fact we, er, had to induct her, because she realized that the same few of us were staying up late every Thursday." Richard didn't look upset; in fact, he was grinning in delight. Beth knew that Audra was exactly the sort of person that he wanted in the club -- anyone who was bright enough to solve the secrets of the S.S.A. could be counted on to puzzle out other mysteries as well.

Audra smiled faintly. Half-turned, she looked like a white-haired Mona Lisa. Evan Wilkes looked at her sharply from under his dark bangs and quickly looked away.

"Any old business?"

Melissa raised her hand excitedly and Richard nodded at her. "I've had a letter from Vivian Sicklewise," she said. "She and Daedalus got engaged over the summer!"

"Excellent!" said Richard delightedly. "Are we invited to the wedding, then?"

"Yes, it's next August in Gloucester," said Melissa. "She's sending out invitations and Portkeys in the spring. It'll be beautiful, won't it?" She heaved the kind of sigh that she only managed when her boyfriend Galen was on her mind.

"Vivian and Daedalus graduated two years ago," Richard explained, for those who hadn't met them. "Both S.S.A. members. Dell's an Animagus, too, but he's unregistered, so don't let on that you know."

Oren smiled and laid a finger to the side of his nose. Audra looked entirely unsurprised by the information, only keeping her eerily cool gaze on Richard.

"Anything else?" Richard looked around the room. "I saw the alumni president, Mr. Jules Rothbard, at the World Cup." He looked extremely proud of this. "He'll be keeping up with us throughout the year ... might even show up at the Tournament.

"That brings us to the new business then. We're entering that tournament, chaps. I don't know how, when or where, but we'll be there, every one of us. Age restrictions should be no challenge for a dozen bright Slytherins. Gloria serpens!"

Oren grinned. Beth realized that it was the first time that he had heard the S.S.A. motto. It certainly wouldn't be the last, she thought. Richard ate, slept and breathed those words. Audra registered no reaction.

"Somebody's got to be prefect next year," Richard went on. "I can't tell you how hard it is to make it to these meetings if the prefect's not a member. Fourth, fifth and sixth years ought to start getting in with Snape right now."

Melissa nodded resolutely, a faint hint of desperation in her eyes.

"Let's see then ..." Richard went on. "Dumbledore didn't give one of his weird cryptic speeches this year ..." Blaise muffled a snicker. "We're not going to lose the house cup thanks to Potter's Quidditch skills, like we did last year ..." Bruce let out a whimper. "No criminals, monsters or unicorn-killers so far ..." He rubbed his hands together cheerfully. "I'd say we're in for a pretty good year! If there's no further business, the meeting is adjourned."

One by one, the members stood, stretched, and made their way out of the Vase Room. On the way out the door, Oren made his way up to Richard. "I wanted to thank you for choosing me."

Richard looked pleased and surprised. "Of course, old sport. You earned it -- we're glad you're here."

Oren blushed slightly and shrugged. "I appreciate it. Oh, and thanks for the curse, by the way," he added, a wry grin on his face.

"Mervin did that," said Richard proudly. "Comes standard with the notes. We've been using it for our whole history." He winked. "Mervin wanted to change it to something nastier but I talked him out of it."

Mervin crossed his arms. "Spoilsport."

They crept through the darkened hallways as a group, keeping a close ear out for Mrs. Norris or Argus Filch. Oren in particular seemed to be enjoying the espionage tremendously. Audra never made a sound; she glided as silent and pale as a ghost alongside the others. They gathered around the door of the common room and waited until Richard whispered "Empyreon" -- then they all crowded inside the common room, whispering cheerfully.

A young, imperious voice broke over them.

"Hey!"

It was the freckle-faced first-year with curly black hair, standing in the middle of the floor in his dressing gown. He had his hands on his hips.

"Malcolm!" said Richard, sounding more surprised than anything. "What are you doing up?"

"I want you to get me a glass of water," said the first-year, tilting his chin up. "What are you doing outside? Are you sneaking out? You'd better do what I say, or I'll tell on all of you and get you all in trouble."

Richard sighed and nodded his head towards Mervin. "Mervin, if you please."

Mervin nodded back. As quick as lightning, he swept out his wand and cried, "Obliviate!"

The first-year's eyes came unfocused and for one brief moment the imperious look fell from his face. Instantly, Richard was at his side, guiding him back to the dormitories, saying, "Malcolm, you've been sleepwalking ... good thing I found you, you could've been hurt ... we'll have to lock the door next time ..."

The boy's confused voice came floating back to the common room. "I wasn't ..."

"Of course you were, old chap. Nothing to be ashamed of. Good night then!" There was the sound of a door slamming and a key turning in its lock.

Beth and Melissa grinned at each other as they headed down the corridor to their own bedroom. "First meeting, and we're already cursing people," Beth whispered, as they hastily changed into pajamas and climbed into bed.

"Of course," Melissa whispered back cheerfully. "Gloria serpens!"

Beth laughed. "Sounds like you've got Richard on the brain."

Melissa raised her eyebrows and a smile played across her lips. "I wouldn't be the only one, would I?"

She closed the drapes on her bed. Beth spent half a minute blushing furiously before she closed her own.