Beth hadn't been more excited about a Hogsmeade trip since third year.
"I can't wait to see him again!" she chattered to Melissa, excitedly doing and re-doing her hair. "He doesn't write me often enough -- I wonder how his job's going -- and if him and Dad are getting along all right ... I don't know how they're staying alive, neither of them can cook worth anything ..."
Melissa smiled. "So where are you meeting your brother?"
"In the Three Broomsticks." Beth could hardly keep from dancing from foot to foot. "Mel -- what are we going to talk about? What if I'm boring?"
"Don't worry," said Melissa. "I'm sure something will come up."
As it turned out, something did.
As soon as the horseless carriages pulled into Hogsmeade station, Beth made a beeline for the Three Broomsticks. She went in and stood just inside the door, to avoid being run over by a horde of excitable third-years, craning her neck, trying to see around the entire tavern at once. A nervous flush rose in her cheeks. He had remembered -- hadn't he?
"Hey." She turned around and there stood Lycaeon, grinning awkwardly. He clutched a medium-sized white box in one hand. "Here -- happy birthday."
"Birthday?" Beth laughed. "It's not 'til next month!"
"Yeah, I know ... but since you won't be coming home, I thought ..."
Beth beamed and threw her arms around his neck. After she had let him go, Lycaeon, looking astonished and embarrassed, said, "Well -- let's find some seats," and they moved through the crowds to a small table near the back of the pub. As soon as they were seated, he shoved the white package over to her. "Go on, open it."
It was a cake: an extremely lopsided cake with lumpy white icing and "Happy Birthday" written very inexpertly in green frosting. Beth grinned, completely thrilled. "Been taking cooking lessons from Dad, have you?"
"Touché." Lycaeon grinned at her and drew a smaller package from his pocket, which turned out to contain seventeen colored wax candles. He stuck them into the cake at odd intervals and then sat back a bit sheepishly. "Wouldn't mind lighting them, would you? I haven't quite got the hang of matches yet ..."
Beth laughed and lit the candles with her wand. He must have got them from Zonko's, because they each burned with a flame that kept changing colors. "Thank you so much." She leaned over the table and pecked him on the cheek, which immediately reddened in a trademark Parson blush.
Pink but pleased, he cleared his throat loudly as the candles burned on the table between them. "School going well? How's the tournament?"
"Frustrating," Beth said fervently. At her brother's confused expression, she quickly summed up the situation with Diggory. Lycaeon let out a low whistle.
"Yeah, I've heard of the Transcongus Brew," he said. "Learnt about it for the O.W.L.s, actually. We used to joke around about it -- you know, when someone'd do something right, we'd say, 'What did you do, take the Transcongus Brew?', that sort of thing. They say it's sold underground to Muggles, that's why so many of their great poets and things die in their thirties." He shook his head. "But I've never known anyone who actually used it."
His eyes took on that familiar haunted look, and Beth, feeling bad about bringing up such an unpleasant subject, said, "How's Dad?"
Luke chuckled, and his gaze softened. "He gets around. He loves the Floo -- I never dreamed you two wouldn't have one. He went to Diagon Alley and came back with all sorts of new stuff for the garden." He looked up at her sheepishly. "How's your poison ivy?"
"Getting better," said Beth eagerly. He held out his hand and she stretched her arm across the table to show him. Her sleeve flapped back to reveal the misshapen red splotch ... and the hem dragged in the candle flame and caught fire.
Beth let out a quick, startled scream and jerked back involuntarily as the flames started to lick up the length of her arm. She shook her arm back and forth, which only helped fan the blaze.
Lycaeon sat paralyzed with horror for several long seconds. Then, seemingly regaining his senses all at once, he sprang to his feet and lunged across the table. He grabbed her burning sleeve and began to beat at the flame with his hands, bellowing, "Rosmerta, get us some water -- ice -- anything!" Some of the nearby patrons began to scramble around, but Beth didn't notice what they were doing. Blind with panic, she struggled to get out of her cloak, but it felt like her sweater was on fire too, even underneath it --
Luke snatched her wand from where it lay on the table, gripped her arm firmly with the other hand, and cried, "Font vitae!"
A gush of water burst from the end of Beth's wand, extinguishing the flame and soaking Beth from head to foot. She sat down on the floor, breathing heavily, and braved a look at her forearm. The sleeve was almost completely burned away; a sticky, charred cloth now clung to her wet skin, and through the gaps she could see angry red blisters start to rise. For the first time, a sharp flash of pain shot from wrist to elbow and she whimpered.
Then Lycaeon was on his knees beside her, pulling aside the wet cloth to see what had been done. "Oh, Bethy," he said hoarsely, his face as drawn as it had been inside Azkaban, "I'm so sorry ... so sorry ..."
"You saved my life," she choked, tears of pain welling in her eyes.
Another flush rose in Lycaeon's cheeks. "I -- crushed your cake," he admitted. Beth laughed through her tears.
"Oy, Parson, you've got some explaining to do." A hand reached down and grabbed Luke's upper arm, dragging him to his feet. "What's this about?"
"I -- I can explain," Lycaeon said, his voice suddenly frightened. "Beth, see, she ..."
Beth scrambled to her feet, clutching her injured arm. The man who had hoisted Lycaeon off of the floor was a burly fellow with a moustache and a large Ministry badge on his chest. He barely glanced over at her before shifting his full attention back to Lycaeon. "Well?"
Beth was suddenly keenly aware of the many eyes on them ... it seemed like the entire pub had turned to watch the drama, many of her classmates included. She flushed brilliantly and struggled to wipe away the tears from her face. Her arm was really starting to sting now, and she bit her lip against crying out.
Lycaeon caught her expression and blushed identically as he too noticed the crowd that had gathered. "I say, Williams, couldn't we ... take it outside? My kid sister, see, I don't want to ..." He nodded in Beth's direction. "She's hurt," he added hastily.
The burly man with the moustache narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but he said, "All right, Parson, no tricks, you know where that'll get you."
Luke's face paled. "I -- I know."
The three of them shoved their way through the staring crowd and into the street. Immediately, Lycaeon pulled Beth to the side of the building, pushed up her sleeve, and began packing snow around her arm. It began to go numb almost immediately, and she looked at him gratefully. He pulled off his scarf and would it around her snow-packed limb before turning back to the burly man.
"Beth's sleeve caught fire and I had to put it out," Lycaeon explained. "There wasn't any water around. I ... sort of panicked ..." He ducked his head. "Won't happen again."
"It had better not," the burly man said gruffly, and Beth realized that he must be Luke's parole officer. He pulled out a notebook. "What spell did you use?"
"Font vitae," said Lycaeon quickly, and the man nodded as if satisfied.
"That's all we have recorded. Miss, you'll vouch for him?"
Beth realized he was speaking to her and looked up quickly. "Sure," she said. "He was just trying to help me," she added quickly. "It was my wand, and I don't mind."
The parole officer snorted. "Well, the Ministry minds very much," he growled. He poked Lycaeon in the chest. "Next time, Parson, get a bucket of water instead of breaking your parole, understood? I've got both eyes on you."
Lycaeon nodded. The burly man snorted again, moustache twitching, and Disapparated in an instant.
Immediately, Lycaeon turned back to Beth. "I'm sorry," he said again, carefully taking her hurt arm. He pulled her gently towards the street, saying, "Let's get you to Madame Pomfrey. She'll have you fixed right up." He began to lead her towards the castle.
"But -- but the carriages are back that way," said Beth, looking over her shoulder.
"They won't let me ride in them, I'm not a student," said Lycaeon, still pulling her along, "and I want to go with you at least as far as the gate. All right?" He smiled winningly. "Just give me a chance to play big brother, all right?"
"All right," Beth said, with a small smile.
It was a long walk back to the castle. On the way, Lycaeon told Beth about what he had been doing since the beginning of the school year. He had been promoted at the petrol station from night security to nighttime cashier; he was gradually learning to handle Muggle cash and operate their nonmagical equipment.
"I sort of lied on the application," he admitted, not sounding especially guilty. "I did tell them that I didn't finish secondary school, but at the part about whether or not I'd ever been in jail, I put that I hadn't. Azkaban would be a bit hard to explain, wouldn't it?" He laughed a little too loudly. "But I'm getting the hang of it all now. Dad's even teaching me to drive a car. In a couple of months you won't be able to tell me from Martin Miggs."
Beth laughed too. "Except you're not a comic strip character, and you're not mad, and you're not a Muggle either -- you've only got fifteen years to wait."
"Fourteen and a half," said Lycaeon quietly, and his eyes looked beyond her to a place unseen.
"I'm getting to know the Durmstrang students," Beth said, to change the subject. "I, erm, went with one of them to the Yule Ball. They're really nice, but their headmaster, Professor Karkaroff, doesn't like them to hang around with --"
"Karkaroff?" Lycaeon stopped walking suddenly. "Igor Karkaroff?"
"Er ... yeah, I think that's his name."
A look of hatred washed over Lycaeon's face and he started forward again. Beth hurried to catch up. "You know him?"
"Know him? I served half a year in Azkaban with him." He shook his head fiercely. "Then he sold out half a dozen others to get himself free. He had some nerve to show his face in Hogwarts."
"So ..." Beth held her injured arm close to her body, almost jogging to keep up with her brother. "He was a Death Eater then?"
"He was." Lycaeon slowed down and looked over at her. "Like I said, he was released from Azkaban when he gave the names of another couple of Death Eaters. Cut a deal with the Ministry. He wasn't very popular in there."
"I guess not," said Beth, not sure of what else to say.
Lycaeon glanced over at her. His eyes fell on her hurt arm, and he looked suddenly fearful. "Listen," he said, "stay away from him. Don't let on that you're a Parson, all right?"
"Why --"
"Trust me," said Lycaeon tightly.
They walked several minutes in silence.
Finally they reached the gates of the castle. "See?" said Lycaeon, rallying himself once again. "Here you are. Now go see Pomfrey and get yourself fixed up."
Beth reached up and gave him a one-armed hug. "Thanks again for the cake."
Lycaeon shrugged guiltily. "I'll mail you another one next month, on your real birthday," he promised. "If it doesn't fall apart." He looked down at the ground and gave a shy smile. "It was good to see you."
Beth beamed. "You too."
My brother came to see me! she thought joyously, all the way to the hospital wing. Before last year, she had never, never expected anything like that to happen for the rest of her life. It occurred to her that, burn or not, she could not remember a better birthday.
Madame Pomfrey was not pleased.
"After all I've seen this year, I shouldn't be surprised," she muttered to herself, deftly cutting away the soaked and charred sleeve. "The Weasley twins and their beards -- those dragons -- Miss Granger's teeth, God help her -- not to mention those horrid sweets that turn you into a bird ... well, let's see what we have here," she said briskly, peeling back the cloth.
Beth winced at the sight. Her left arm from wrist to elbow was a mass of painful blisters. Madame Pomfrey tutted and shook her head. "You've done a job on yourself," she said matter-of-factly. "Leaving it without treatment for so long ... Shouldn't be surprised if there'll be scars." She fetched a large can of orange paste and began slapping liberal amounts of it onto Beth's skin. "It won't work so well as it would have, if you'd gotten it in here right away," she warned. "You'll keep those blisters for a while." She tutted again as she wound gauze around the paste, making a sort of gooshy cast. "Even Diggory didn't do himself up this badly, and he faced a dragon!"
She looked up at Beth suddenly, with a curiosity that she rarely showed. "How'd you do this, then?"
"A birthday cake," said Beth, and blushed scarlet.
Madame Pomfrey nodded wisely and laid a finger to the side of her nose. "That's why I never ask," she said.
~~~~~~~~
