Beth stood in the Entrance Hall, not knowing where to go to talk about what had happened with Josef. She couldn't talk to Richard, obviously, though she wanted to, and Melissa was likely to kill her for treating her "gorgeous foreign suitor" so harshly. Antigone would have been knowledgeable but was completely untrustworthy. Cold, tired, and frustrated, she went to seek out Bruce Bletchley.
Bruce was in the common room, flipping distractedly through some Charms notes. Beth had intended to quietly approach him, objectively describe what had happened and calmly request advice. Somehow it didn't happen. Instead, she let out a wail and sank down into the chair beside him.
"Bruce, you have to help me! Josef hates me and I don't know what to do ..."
Eventually the important points came out. Bruce leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. "Well," he said carefully, "you could start by apologizing for breaking his heart."
"I didn't break his heart," Beth snapped, "he's the stupid git who jumped to conclusions." She let out a wail. "I broke his heart, didn't I?"
"Yeah." Bruce looked thoughtful again. "Did he say anything before he left? Did he sound mad?"
"I don't know, it was half in Russian or something," said Beth, shaking her head. "He just said, 'The szlama have no hearts' and just left."
"The szlama," Bruce repeated, furrowing his brow. "Szlama ..." His face cleared into understanding. "Oh, Beth -- he's a Muggle-born!"
Beth was as stunned as Bruce. "A Muggle-born," she repeated. "That idiot, he thinks I hate him because he's -- but I didn't even know ..."
"I never would've guessed," said Bruce. "I can't believe they let him in Durmstrang."
A slow understanding burrowed to the top of Beth's mind. "Karkaroff knows."
"Huh?" Bruce looked up at her.
"Karkaroff knows," she said again, surprised at her own words. "That's why he hates Josef so much. He can't stand to see a Muggle-born in his school ... I wonder how he even got in ..."
"You've got to go talk to him," said Bruce, in a tone that indicated that it was his last bit of advice and he was washing his hands of the whole business.
Beth sighed. She'd known that would be the answer, of course, but she still didn't like it.
Beth avoided speaking with Josef for several days, unable to find the nerve -- but it soon became clear that not speaking with him was much worse. He was there at every meal, surrounding himself with his classmates, utterly ignoring her. The coldness was unbearable. Even his classmates seemed to be cooler toward Beth. Finally, after three days of this, Beth gathered her courage and went to find Josef.
He was in the library, sitting by himself, surrounded by textbooks with foreign titles. He glanced up to see who it was and immediately went back to his work, scrawling busily on his parchment, thumbing through books.
"I need to talk to you, Josef."
Josef shrugged a little, uninvitingly.
Beth sat down anyway. She waited a minute to see if Josef would say anything at all. He didn't. She wasn't sure how to start out, so she got straight to the point. "I had to get Bruce to tell me what szlama means."
Josef let out a short "Hm," of complete disinterest.
"It's true," said Beth, not expecting him to believe her. "I didn't even know you were Muggle-born until then. And I don't care. My dad's a Squib."
Josef glanced over at her through narrowed eyes, but Beth thought he looked more hurt than angry. "Then vhy?" he said shortly.
Beth hesitated. Why not Josef? He was clever and funny. He really wasn't that bad-looking. He cared about her, or did a good job of pretending; he was interested in her, he was upset that she wasn't falling into his arms like he'd hoped. Why not?
Because of the name that came into her mind when he kissed her.
"I know this sounds stupid," said Beth, "but it's not you. I just ... I can't stop thinking about Richard. I'm sorry."
Josef was silent for a moment. "I t'ink I knew that," he said at last. "I am sorry too."
"Friends?"
Josef looked at her and shrugged. Beth thought some of the old grin was back around the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps in a week or so," he said.
Beth smiled back.
Time passed quietly for the next few weeks. Spring came in with blowing winds and cool mornings, finally giving way to long, warm days.
Josef and Beth remained on speaking terms. Their interactions became more careful now, strangely courteous. Beth missed the flagrant flirting and the warm teasing. She had given up Josef in favor of Richard, but it was hard to overlook the fact that Richard was spending a lot of time with Gypsy, and it didn't always look like they were studying.
Cedric Diggory maintained his coolness toward the Slytherins. It was hard to tell whether or not he'd forgiven them for giving him an erroneous map of the lake -- it was certain, however, that he wasn't going to let them mislead him again, accidentally or on purpose.
Mervin was dumped by his Hufflepuff girlfriend in late April, in favor of a skinny Ravenclaw named Lucas. He had little to say on the subject, but his grades began to pick up immediately.
Beth's burn healed enough that the bandages on her arm could be permanently removed. The scar it left was ugly: pink-rimmed and blotchy, covering most of her inner forearm. Beth went to Madame Pince looking for scar-removal spells, only to hear that Dumbledore didn't approve of them. She wasn't sure why. Apparently it had something to do with the Headmaster's left knee and the London underground. Resigned to bearing the scar for the rest of her life, Beth continued wearing long-sleeved shirts despite the warming weather.
The Slytherins went down to breakfast one morning to find the Durmstrang students in quite a state. Viktor bore a large bruise on his head.
"What happened?" asked Richard, sitting down among them, while the Slytherins crowded around curiously.
Gypsy was livid. "He was out with the Champions last night," she said angrily, before Viktor could get a word in, "and he went off alone to talk to Harry Potter, and this crazy old man came out of the forest and started ranting about You-Know-Who!" She was so vehement that some of her classmates flinched as if she had actually said the unspeakable name. "Potter ran off to get help, and Viktor was attacked. Attacked!"
"I vos only Stupefied," Viktor put in.
"You could've died," Gypsy told him. She turned back to Richard. "The crazy old man has disappeared."
"Who --" Richard began.
"Mr. Crouch!" Gypsy exploded. "A Triwizard judge!"
"I don't know if it vos Mr. Crouch," Viktor ventured. "I did not see who had cast t'e spell."
"Don't be ridiculous, who else could it have been?" Gypsy barked.
Bruce spoke up. "It could've been Potter."
There was a short silence. Viktor did not look convinced. "I don't t'ink it vos Potter, either."
"He could've done it," said Melissa. "Nobody seems to remember this, but he killed Professor Quirrell."
"Long story," Richard murmured to Gypsy, who looked alarmed.
"And defeated the Dark Lord -- what, twice now? And he slew a basilisk," Beth added.
"Three times," Melissa corrected. "Oh, and once he flew a car into a tree. And the other summer he blew up his aunt and ran away from home -- the Ministry was all abuzz."
"And he sicced that snake on that Hufflepuff kid," said Bruce. "In second year, remember? At the Dueling Club. Everybody saw it. And his godfather is a murderer escaped from Azkaban!"
Viktor still looked dubious. "He vos very civil to me," he said.
"He's a Gryffindor, that's how they operate," said Melissa, looking suddenly bitter. "What were you even thinking, going out to talk with him alone in the middle of the night?"
Viktor flushed and would not answer.
"And one time he beat up a mountain troll," Bruce added.
The Durmstrangers were quite impressed.
The unexplained attack on the Durmstrang champion somehow didn't make it into the school rumor mills -- the lump on Viktor's head was blamed on vigorous Quidditch practice, and excessive training for the Third Task, and a secret duel with a vengeful Beauxbatons student who was somehow related to Aidan Lynch. Karkaroff was telling his students that Dumbledore had somehow instructed Mr. Crouch to take Viktor out of the Tournament. They didn't believe a word of it ... but not knowing what else to think, and protective of their friend, they started to hang together in a tighter clique -- much like they had at the very beginning of the year.
Richard broached the subject at the beginning of the S.S.A. meeting that week.
"Viktor and Potter are approached in the middle of the night by a crazy Mr. Crouch," said Richard, pacing back and forth in front of the statue of Salazar Slytherin. "Potter leaves and comes back to find Viktor stunned and Crouch missing." There was a lot more space in the Chamber than there'd been in the Vase Room. His pacing habit had been getting worse.
"Who attacked Viktor? Crouch, or an outside actor? Was he going after Viktor or Potter? Both? How did he get inside the school grounds -- did he plan to be there, or was it an accidental meeting? He left Viktor alive and he let Potter go for help, probably he could've killed them both ..." Richard stopped in the center of the statue and looked over the membership. "There's something going on, chaps ... something ... I wish we'd been there to hear what went on."
"I've told you everything Viktor heard," Gypsy said, with a little sigh. "Crouch was ranting. Tea with Cornelius Fudge ... Dumbledore, twelve owls, Bertha someone, Harry Potter ... the Dark Lord ... somebody named Weatherby ... none of it made sense. It was nonsense."
"It made sense to him," Oren spoke up. Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged, suddenly bashful.
"You're right," said Richard thoughtfully. "It must be connected -- Crouch thought he was talking sense." He paused. "If Diggory weren't furious at us --" here he glared at Bruce "-- we might ask him to help figure it out. I doubt it's coincidence that two of the Champions were involved."
Bruce rolled his eyes and looked away.
"All right, whatever," said Richard, frustrated. "Next topic. I know this is futile, but I can't help asking. Does anyone know anything about our Ledger or our cauldron?"
To Beth's surprise, Herne Rudisille stood up. "I have something," he said, somewhat shyly.
Richard too looked astonished. "Really? What is it?"
"Remember how somebody thought that Ginny Weasley got some accomplices to take the cauldron, while she was at the Yule Ball?" said Herne. "Well, whether it's her or not, that's not why the twins are acting all suspicious."
Evan cocked an eyebrow sardonically. "Oh? Read their minds, did you?"
"No." Herne held up a slightly wrinkled parchment. "I read their mail."
Beth broke into a grin. Blaise and Oren both looked a bit scandalized, but Evan seemed impressed. "What do you know. Rudisille's learned to play dirty!"
"Whatever it takes to find the Ledger," said Richard seriously. "Go on, Herne. What's it say?"
Herne opened the paper and began to read.
When he had finished, the Chamber of Secrets sat in silence for a moment. Then Mervin spoke up.
"Herne's not the only one who's learned to play dirty," he said. "That's blackmail!"
"I'd say it's more of a light beige," said Herne, holding up the letter.
"No, eggshell," said Melissa.
"I was thinking a creamy tan," said Bruce thoughtfully.
"Ha ha ha," Mervin said. "But I mean what I said. The Weasleys are blackmailing Ludo Bagman." A great hope blossomed on his face. "We could get them in really big trouble for this!"
"We aren't here to get the Gryffindors in trouble," said Richard severely.
"Nae, but 'tis a bonny bonus," Morag said cheerfully.
Richard shook his head. "There's no benefit in us turning them in," he insisted. "Listen, if we catch them legitimately I'll play prefect and go to Snape about it. But I don't think it'll look good on us if we admit to having shot down their owl so we could read their correspondence."
"The owl recovered," said Herne.
"We are not turning them in," said Richard firmly.
That proclamation more or less ended the meeting. The members chatted for a few idle minutes; then they got up and began to filter back into the dark hallway.
Audra Verona stopped in the doorway. As Evan Wilkes passed by, she reached out and touched his hand. "Evan."
The dark-haired boy jerked angrily away from her fingers. "What?"
Audra met his eyes, delicate and calm as a bird. "I know what you hide."
Without a word, Evan shoved past her and stormed out the door. It occurred to Beth that she had never before seen him look frightened.
The attack on Viktor was so distracting that it was several days before anyone realized that something else had come out of the champions' meeting: details of the third task.
"A maze," said Melissa, leaning across the breakfast table so that only Beth, Bruce and Mervin could hear her. "Full of obstacles."
"What kind of obstacles?" Bruce wondered, around his sausage.
"That's the problem," said Melissa. "We don't know. It could be anything. Cedric has to be prepared to meet curses, spells, blockades, monsters, ghosts, and I don't even know what else." She glanced at Bruce. "I know he's furious with us, but we have to give him a hand."
Bruce looked down at his plate.
"How?" asked Beth. "We can't get near him."
"We have to try," Melissa said firmly. "Maybe all we can do is slip him something to read, countercurses or something. Anything that could help."
"Mervin has a million books of curses under his bed," said Bruce. "We can loan them to Diggory."
Beth shook her head. "Even if he's prepared, he's going to have to be so careful ..."
"Constant vigilance," came a gloomy voice next to them.
Beth jumped. It took her a minute to recognize the person sitting beside them. If Evan Wilkes had looked ill over the previous week, now he seemed to be on the verge of death. Huge, dark circles lay under his eyes, and his face was pallid and implacable. With black hair falling into his half-lidded eyes, it was difficult to tell what he was looking at -- if anything.
"Good lord," said Bruce, alarmed, "you look like hell."
"Go there," said Evan shortly, and moved down several places.
Mervin watched as Evan picked around some eggs and finally pushed them away without eating. "At least he's his usual cheery self," he commented.
Melissa gave him a dirty look. "I'm worried about him," she said. "He's never looked so bad."
Feathers and letters rained down on the company as the postal owls made their morning run. Beth got a note from Lycaeon -- just a few scrawled lines, but it was enough to put a smile on her face. She put it away carefully. She'd never thrown away one of her brother's letters.
A big pink envelope wafted to Melissa's place. She tore it open, brow furrowed, and read through the enclosed letter. Her classmates watched with interest. Finally Melissa put the letter back in its envelope, folded it in half, and set it on fire.
"Galen," said Melissa.
Beth watched the letter burn to ashes.
"He's crazy," said Melissa, as Bruce poked uncertainly at the ashes with his fork. "Wrote one of those awful poems. He always was a terrible poet."
Beth didn't say anything.
"He's crazy," Melissa said again. Then she went back to her food.
She didn't talk about it again until breakfast was over and they were on the way down the hall. With no preface, she burst out, "He wants me back. The utter twit."
Beth knew better than to offer an opinion on the subject -- sometimes it was safer to let Melissa rant. "Oh."
"What is he thinking? That I'm just going to forgive him for completely ditching me?" Melissa threw up her hands, narrowly missing a passing Gryffindor. "That I'm just going to go running back to his obsessive, bad-poetry-writing, well-defined arms? That I'll just --"
"Hang on, Mel," Bruce said, holding out an arm to shush her. "Look over there."
Evan had stopped halfway down the hall and was now leaning against one of the walls, head down. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. "Evan, are you all right?" Melissa said, touching him on the shoulder.
Evan jerked away from her touch. His eyes flew open. "Fine," he snarled. "Right as rain. Go away." He started down the hall again.
Melissa turned to Beth, concern written all over her face. "What's the matter with ..."
She broke off with a gasp. Several paces away, Evan Wilkes stopped, swayed, and sprawled face-down in the corridor in a sudden and complete faint.
Beth was too startled to act right away, but Melissa sprang toward Evan almost as soon as he hit the floor. Battling to keep would-be spectators at bay, she called for Bruce and Warrington to lift up the still-unconscious boy (although Beth thought that just Warrington would have been enough). The cluster of them fought through the between-classes crowd toward the hospital wing.
Madame Pomfrey caught sight of Beth first, and a weary recognition crossed her face.
"What've you done to your arm this time, dear?"
"Nothing this time," said Beth. As she spoke, Bruce and Warrington shuffled inside with Evan strung between them. Madame Pomfrey's eyes grew wide.
"Not -- Petrification?"
She rushed to the cot where the boys were clumsily laying out Evan. Seeing his limp form, she relaxed immediately. "Did you see it? Was it a charm or natural?"
"We think he fainted," Melissa reported. Bruce and Warrington backed out, murmuring about telling Professor Binns that the girls would be late for class. "He was alone in the hallway -- I don't think it was a curse."
"We'll see," said Madame Pomfrey. She pulled out a short, clear glass cylinder from her breast pocket and popped it under Evan's tongue. She whisked it out a moment later. The end was now pale blue.
"That's it," she said, sounding relieved. "An honest fainting spell. Watch him for a moment, dears, while I fetch my potion." She bustled away.
"I hope her fainting potion's better than her burn ointment," Beth commented. Just being in the infirmary gave her arm a nagging itch. "I've still got scabs all over my arm."
"Thanks for the update," said Melissa, a hint of disgust in her tone. She looked down at Evan, pale and still and somehow looking more innocent, with his head tilted on the pillow and his mouth slightly agape. Evan's hand slid from his chest and flopped down to hang over the edge of the bed. As it did, his sleeve caught on something and his arm was left bare.
Not entirely bare. A series of parallel gashes, each white-rimmed and new, lined the pale inside of his forearm.
Melissa let out a quick gasp. "How -- horrible --"
Beth felt sick at the sight of the thick, scabbing cuts. She had seen those wounds before: on Richard's arm, as he sacrificed his health to learn what was hidden in the forbidden third-floor corridor. That had been three years ago, but she still shuddered when she thought of how pale and hollow-eyed he had been during that week.
There were footsteps, and Beth hastily readjusted Evan's sleeve. If anybody else found the wounds, it was up to Evan to explain them.
It was none too soon. Madame Pomfrey bustled up, tutting to herself. She laid a cold compress on Evan's forehead, popped open the cork of an ancient glass beaker, and wafted it under Evan's nose a few times.
The boy's dark eyes blazed open. Instantly, he tried to sit up. Madame Pomfrey shot out a hand and shoved him back down.
"Oh no you don't," she said, shaking up a lime green concoction while pinning Evan to the cot. "It's bed rest for you, my boy." She forced the potion down Evan's throat even as the boy struggled against her iron grip. "Thank you kindly for bringing him in. Now do me a favor, dears, and go tell this boy's prefect before you head back to class."
Melissa cast Beth a glance. "Of course."
Richard didn't take the news well.
"He's not strong enough!" Richard said, worry making him sound angrier than he really was. "There's a reason we only ask the biggest members to give blood for the Baron. He could be seriously hurt -- and now Madame Pomfrey is going to wonder what happened --"
"Madame Pomfrey knows how to hold her tongue," said Beth.
"Just -- what made him think he could handle it?" Richard demanded. He fell back onto an armchair and ran both hands through his hair. "How many cuts were there? Did you count them?"
"No ... about six," Beth guessed.
"Lord -- six!" cried Richard, going apoplectic all over again. "He can't have any blood left!" He ran both hands through his hair. "How long has this been going on? How could I have missed it?"
"That's not what I'm wondering about," said Melissa thoughtfully.
Richard turned to look at her.
"If he's been going to the Bloody Baron for information," she said slowly, "what could he possibly want to know?"
Diggory's assistance was very subtle.
In Apparator's Ed., Mervin slipped Cedric a piece of parchment containing a potent Impediment Curse. Cedric put the note in his backpack and didn't open it.
The next day, Beth passed him a book in Alchemy. He flipped through it before he put it away. He didn't meet her eyes.
Mervin gave him another book in the library the next day. This time Cedric glanced up and said, "Thank you," as he was accepting the book of countercurses.
By Thursday, the Slytherins were feeding Cedric a regular diet of hexes, jinxes and spells. It was frightening how many curses Mervin had access too. Cedric was accepting them now -- warily, being once-burned, but willingly. The results were very encouraging. Beth and Melissa went off to the meeting on Thursday pleased with their success. They were doing everything in their power to give Diggory the tools he needed -- everything else was up to him.
They reached the Chamber of Secrets early and opened the lock with Melissa's ring. They ducked through the door and went inside, lighting the sconces along the walls as they went.
Melissa drew up short at the skeleton of the basilisk and looked around. "Does something seem ... different, to you?"
"Not really," said Beth slowly, but she gazed around at the Chamber. There was the basilisk skeleton, the statue of Salazar, the Petrified form of Ulysses Donner ... "Ulysses is turned the wrong way," said Beth, instantly relaxing. "Somebody must have flipped him around to give him a different view."
"That's ridiculous," said Melissa scornfully, "he's dead." She went over and examined the statue closely. "Oh well," she finally shrugged. "Maybe it was the fourth-years, they're weird like that ..." She turned back to Beth -- and let out a gasp.
"That's it," she said, pointing a shaking finger toward the collection of Salazar's old Potions equipment.
Beth turned around and followed her finger. The large stone cauldron, four feet high and five feet wide, had vanished completely.
Richard was no less than frantic.
"How could they have gotten in?" he practically howled, pacing around the Chamber, returning time and time again to the empty spot where the cauldron had once stood. "It had to be one of us! How could it be one of us?" He stopped in front of Beth and Melissa. "Did either of you take it?" he asked earnestly.
Melissa let out a tired sigh. "For the fourth time, Rich, we're the ones who reported it."
Richard wrung his hands. "I know ... I just keep hoping ..." He resumed pacing.
"You're not going to find it by wearing a rut in the floor," said Beth crossly.
"I know, I know," said Richard, not stopping as he strode past. He grabbed his hair with both fists. "You have to have a Society ring to get in!" he exploded, on the way back. "It has to be --"
The door slid open and Mervin stepped inside. Richard pounced.
"Did you do it?"
Mervin let out a shriek just before he was tackled to the ground.
It took a long time to get Richard off of Mervin, and even then it took half a dozen Calming Charms to keep him from trying it again. By then most of the members had come in and been questioned, accused, and exonerated, not necessarily in that order. Beth was inwardly delighted that Richard did not refrain from casting suspicion on Gypsy as well. He had badgered Blaise almost to the point of tears when the door opened and Evan Wilkes entered. He looked as hollow-eyed and disturbed as he had earlier that day. "Where were you last night?" Richard asked immediately.
"Nowhere," said Evan. His black hair hung in a pair of haunted eyes. This wasn't the cool, cocky boy who played chess and gloated when he inevitably won. Beth felt an uneasiness stir within her. Had she been so quick to eliminate him as a suspect?
"I mean it, Evan, where were you?" Richard repeated, and Beth could tell that his thinking was along the same lines as hers. Evan Wilkes, the son of a Death Eater ... the cynic, the dark humorist ... always the one with a sardonic comment or morose observation ...
"I said, nowhere." His voice was brittle.
Richard started towards the dark-haired boy. "Out with it," he warned.
Evan snapped. "I was trying to kill Moody!" he practically screamed. "Three in the morning, disabled all his equipment, I was in his bedroom with a knife, all ready to cut his disgusting heart right out of his chest, when I looked down and it wasn't him in the bed! I'd got the wrong room -- almost killed somebody I didn't even recognize --" He broke off and stood there glaring at Richard, chest heaving with a ferocity in his eyes that Beth had never seen. "That's where I was. I didn't steal your precious cauldron."
He turned on his heels and darted out of the Chamber.
A heavy silence fell on the members. Then Gypsy Arendt leaned over and touched Richard on the elbow.
"How did he know the cauldron was stolen?" she said softly.
Richard stared at her. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Then he managed a strangled, "Do you think --?" but couldn't complete the thought. He looked over at Beth helplessly. "Beth -- you've got to go talk to him."
She looked back, half alarmed. "Why me?"
"Because he doesn't like me." Richard ran both hands through his hair. "You two've been getting along lately ... helping Diggory and all ... and I never see him hang out with anyone, he doesn't even really like Herne ..." He sighed heavily. "Please, just do it, okay?"
Beth bit her lip. She wouldn't agree if it had been anyone else asking. "All right. What should I say?"
"Find out how he knew about the cauldron. Make sure he's all right." Richard hesitated. "See if you can find out about that whole attempted murder thing too, will you?"
"Gloria serpens," Beth sighed.
Evan was not sulking in a corner of the common room, or glowering at his books in the library, or even, Herne reported, sprawled morosely on his four-poster bed. Beth checked a couple of empty classrooms and the dungeons before she found him in the Vase Room, flipping through a textbook like a bored death-row inmate.
He didn't look up as she came to sit beside him. "Spying for Richard?" he said coolly, tossing the textbook to one side.
He really was aggravating, Beth thought. The only way to talk to him was to use the same language. "Yes. Hiding from him?"
Evan favored her with a half-smile, though he didn't meet her eyes. Beth took it as a good sign and plunged in.
"Did you really try to kill Moody?"
Evan nodded. "Yup."
"Why?"
For a moment Beth thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he snorted and leaned back into the chair, hands behind his head.
"Isn't it obvious? Tale as old as time: he killed my father. I remember coming home from primary school and complaining that I was the only kid without a father. You can thank Alastor Moody for that, Mother always said. Then I come back to school this year, and there he is. The man who ruined my life."
There was silence. Beth didn't know what to say -- she felt like she should console him for failing to take revenge, although personally she was relieved that he hadn't succeeded. Finally, she said carefully, "I thought Moody's room would be harder to get into ... constant vigilance, and all that."
Evan turned to look at her with his startlingly dark eyes. "Oh, I paid for it." He flicked a glance to his hands -- no -- his arm -- and Beth knew.
"The Baron?"
Evan looked away. "Very clever."
"But he double-crossed you," Beth reasoned slowly. "You said it was the wrong room. I didn't think the Baron ever lied --"
"Neither," said Evan sourly, "did I." He stood up to leave. "Just goes to show you shouldn't trust somebody that's already dead. They have nothing to lose."
Beth stood up too. "Wait -- just one thing." She hesitated. "The cauldron. How did you know it was stolen?"
The corner of Evan's mouth quirked. "That's where I went, afterward. It was missing when I got there."
He turned and left without another word.
Beth watched him go. Behind his sarcasm, behind his casual despondency, there was honesty. Evan Wilkes had been telling the truth ... Beth wondered if a lie could have been more chilling.
Before Beth even realized it, the last weeks of school were upon them.
Finals would take place in the week before the Third Task, but Beth couldn't care less about those. Foremost in her mind was the thing that had been somewhere in the back of it all year: The final Alchemy project, due the Monday of finals week.
While the other students crammed facts into their heads, and the Society crammed curses and countercurses into Cedric's, Snape's Alchemy III students went on the academic warpath -- raiding the library for sources, spending hours in the dungeons, begging ingredients from Snape, Sprout and even Filch, who was driven to a tantrum at the sudden presence of brewing potions in every available classroom. Even the very tricky work they were doing in App. Ed -- just Apparating from one end of the classroom to the other -- was nothing compared to what they had to accomplish for Snape and Vector.
One week until the potion was due.
"Professor Snape, I need to use the dungeons this evening -- to work on my project."
"Oh, very well, Stebbins. Do any of the rest of you procrastinators find yourselves hoist on that same petard? ... I thought as much. The dungeons will be available from six until eleven o'clock tonight. Do remember to bring all of your equipment. I doubt that I own enough alembics to go around."
Six days.
"Want to play cards, Beth?"
"Are you out of your mind, Bruce?!? I've got to write my whole Alchemy paper and the potion isn't even done, I can't figure out what to put in to offset the dimness the nettles give me and even if I did know, I have to calculate how much of it I need and when to put it in and how long I should let it boil if at all --"
"Good lord, Beth. Sorry for asking."
Four days.
"Excuse me? ... Miss Parson?"
"Who are you?"
"Sarah Fawcett. Look, you don't know me, but I'm in your Alchemy class, and if you let me see your notes from October I'll give you my firstborn child."
"All right, but it had better be a boy. I need his blood to finish my project."
Three days.
"Mervin? Are you the firstborn in your family?"
Two days.
"Beth?"
"Hmmf -- huh? Wha --?"
"Wake up, it's morning. I can't believe you fell asleep sitting up again."
"Morning ...? Oh Mel, I was supposed to finish my report last night! What on earth am I going to do--?"
"Hush. Look here, it's over half finished. And you have two more days. Now come get some breakfast. You need to eat ..."
"No I don't, I need to pass this class. Where's my abacus?"
So it came down, as it always does, to the night before the project was due.
Beth spent the afternoon brewing her final potion in the dungeons. Then she moved to an empty classroom. When Argus Filch, muttering threats, kicked her out of there, she moved the operation to the common room and had to chase away the firsties from the fireplace so she could keep the cauldron boiling.
The brew had to be simmered for several hours yet. Beth spent the time finishing up her paper. She was delighted to find that when she wrote out every little thing she'd learned about the eye, light, vision, potions and alchemy, it was enough to fill the length requirement. She wrote the last sentence and wound it up into a scroll without another glance. If she tried to edit it, she'd be up all night.
The potion shimmered softly, shifting from teal to lime green under a lovely silver sheen. Beth sat and watched it for a few minutes, yawning in satisfaction. It was going to turn out all right. She just needed to add the last few ingredients.
"Horsehair," she enumerated to herself, "cats' eyes, fennel, and the sucker of an octopus." She shuffled through her bottles of ingredients. "The sucker of an octopus ..."
It wasn't there.
For a moment Beth just sat there, stunned at her own stupidity. She'd known she needed it -- well, she'd known a month ago, anyway -- how could she have failed to procure such an important ingredient? There wasn't a single octopus sucker in the school. She remembered now -- she'd gone to the storage cupboards and found none, and decided to ask Professor Snape to order her one. Well, she hadn't done it, and now, at the very last moment, she was up a creek.
She picked up her Alchemy book with trembling hands, still not accepting how horrible the situation was. She flipped to the back of the book. There were pages and pages of charts, showing conversion factors for substitution ingredients. There -- octopus suckers -- she could get away with a double quantity of dried leaves from a Venomous Tentacular. Snape had those. She'd used them in class. She was saved!
Beth looked up at the clock and swore. A quarter to midnight -- Snape had closed up the dungeons an hour ago, he'd either flunk or kill anyone who disturbed him at this time of night. She thought about trying to break into his private store and immediately decided against it. The shops in Hogsmeade were closed ... she could sneak out, get to London by Floo and track down some all-hours potions shop, but then she wouldn't get home until at least two in the morning, and she needed absolutely every moment to finish and test the potion. Diagon Alley was out of the question.
All right, then. She'd have to get her ingredients fresh.
Beth put on her cloak and got ready for a breath of night air.
The summer winds were warm; the lush grass was wet beneath her feet. Beth crept out of the broom shed and silently crossed the Hogwarts grounds, leaving shimmering footsteps behind her in the dew. She pulled her cloak tighter around her -- glanced about nervously -- and darted into Greenhouse One.
The Venomous Tentacular stood along one wall, snaky purple leaves upheld majestically in the moonlight. Beth pulled on a pair of discarded dragon-hide gloves, found a trowel hanging on the wall, picked up an empty flowerpot from underneath the work bench, and approached the plant like a gladiator ready to kill a lion.
The plant shook as it sensed her nearness and let out a little whine. "Hush," Beth hissed, setting down her supplies. "I'm not after you."
A tiny offshoot had sprung up in the pot beside the larger Tentacular -- a child plant, born of the same root structure, ready to be disconnected and transplanted. Beating off the thick, whippy vines from both the tall and small plants, Beth got to work brushing the dirt from the baby roots.
She had worked for a few minutes when she became suddenly, keenly aware of a nearby presence. She turned around slowly. A large, black shape filled the doorway.
There was a moment's pause.
"Hi, Stebbins."
"Hi, Parson. Is the Moon Lily still blooming?"
Beth gestured to a plant in the corner with vast cup-like petals. "Help yourself."
Stebbins started forward; then he paused and eyed Beth suspiciously. "Say ... you won't tell Snape where I got my ingredients?"
"Not if you don't tell Sprout what I did to her Venomous Tentacular," said Beth, not looking up from her work.
"Fair enough," said Stebbins. He went to the lily, snipped off three broad flowers, and left.
Beth finished detaching the sprout from its parent. Carefully, she lifted it out and replanted it in the smaller clay pot. The parent Tentacular crooned sadly.
"I need this more than you do," Beth told it. The late hour was starting to wear on her -- not to mention the string of sleepless nights. She picked up the pot and slipped outside. She crept along the side of the greenhouse, heading for the broom shed. She stopped dead.
Someone was approaching.
She cast about wildly and finally dropped to her stomach behind a shrub. She set aside the Venomous Tentacular. Peering through the stripped branches at the base of the bush, she could make out a bare outline of the intruders. There were two of them, side by side, walking slowly but with youthful surety -- students. One of them spoke.
"You have to listen to me."
It was Richard.
"Of course I am, darling." This was Gypsy. Beth's heart gave a funny lurch. The Venomous Tentacular was tugging feebly on her hair, not wanting to be neglected, but she kept her eyes focused on the pair of seventh-years.
The moon came out and bathed the grounds in pale light. Seeing Gypsy's face more clearly only made Beth inexplicably angry. She wore a look of perfect contentment ... no, more than that ... self-satisfaction. She shouldn't be wandering around the grounds this late, Beth thought obstinately, perfectly aware of her own hypocrisy.
They stopped near the greenhouses and turned to face each other. Richard spoke then.
"Gypsy ... I need to tell you how I feel about you ..."
"I know," said Gypsy softly. Their figures were a pair of soft silhouettes in the moonlight. She leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips.
Beth felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and a burning flush race across her cheeks. Hot rage welled behind her eyes and came out in unexpected tears. She knew, she'd known all along, but she didn't want to see it --
She snatched up the Venomous Tentacular, pot and all, and darted silently across the grounds.
By morning Beth had a working night-vision potion, a fifty-foot-long written report, a terrible headache, and a curious hollowness in the middle of her chest. She took her History of Magic test in the morning without thinking too much about it and napped through lunch. In the afternoon she turned in her Alchemy project along with the rest of her exhausted-looking class and then went off to do her Apparator's Education test (written -- they'd have to schedule tests with the Ministry for themselves sometime over the summer). She had dinner with Melissa and Bruce -- ignoring Richard entirely -- and had time to study for a few other final exams before she fell into bed early that evening.
The rest of finals week passed quickly. Beth scraped through her tests, thanks largely to Melissa's flash cards and her own newly-acquired cramming skills. The usual tension of final exams was alleviated by a school-wide sense of growing anticipation over the upcoming Third Task. By Friday, the excitement was at fever pitch. The final task! The one which would decide the winner! Some of the more enterprising Slytherins began taking bets from the other students. The fourth-years sneaked off for a last-minute interview with Rita Skeeter, who had taken to buzzing around the Great Hall looking for gossip.
Beth's last exam (Charms, which actually went well) was over on Friday morning. She spent most of the afternoon in her bedroom. She had been intentionally avoiding Richard all week, even when he looked like he was purposefully trying to talk to her, and her bedroom was the only place she could be sure of not running into him. A little before dinner, she came down to the common room.
With final exams nearly completed, the atmosphere had grown more relaxed. Students played cards or Gobstones or napped around the fire. Her eye was drawn to a table in the corner. Mervin sat there, surrounded by books, flipping through one after the other. Figuring that he was still on the Society's business, Beth went up to him.
"How are things coming with Cedric?"
Mervin shrugged. "I've given him every book of curses I've got."
Beth leaned over to look at the book under Mervin's arm, but the title was obscured. "So what are you working on?" she asked. "If you haven't noticed, final exams are over."
Mervin was quiet for a minute. Then he looked up at Beth. "Have you ever heard of Claudius Diggory?"
"Other than hearing Cedric talk about him?" Beth shook her head. "No."
"Well, neither have I." Mervin tapped the cover of the book. "Neither has Madame Pince. And neither," he added, picking up the book, "has the author of Notable Magical Names of Our Time."
Beth was not entirely sure what Mervin was trying to get at. "So?"
"The writer of Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century doesn't mention him," Mervin went on. "He's not in Who's Who in the Magical Community, or Famous Wizards You Should Know, or Britain's Richest Wizards (And Why Not to Hate Them), and he's not even on a chocolate frog card."
"My next door neighbor is," Beth said, thinking of Mr. Scamander.
"But not Claudius Diggory," said Mervin triumphantly.
"So?" Beth said again.
"Don't you see? Cedric's uncle took the potion but he never got rich or famous from it. If you don't take the rewards ..."
"... you don't have to make the payments," Beth finished. "Of course. Mervin, I think you're right -- but Diggory is getting the rewards, he's one step away from Head Boy -- he can't even get much farther along in Hogwarts."
"Exactly," said Mervin grimly.
Beth saw his point. The potion had done its work and would eventually require its due. She took a deep breath.
"I think we need to tell Cedric what we found out," she said. "He thinks the potion doesn't work, or something. And," she said, glancing up at the clock, "seeing as the task is tomorrow, we have to go do it now."
Mervin frowned. "Shouldn't we tell Richard --"
"No," said Beth shortly. "Come on."
They found Cedric in the library. He and Cho Chang were poring over curse texts from the Restricted Section and speaking in suspiciously calm terms about their difficulty and effectiveness. Cho didn't look like she liked the idea of Cedric going off to chat with a couple of Slytherins, but Cedric told her it was fine and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before he followed Beth and Mervin out of the library.
They led him into an empty classroom and shut the door. Beth considered starting off with small talk, asking how the preparation was coming, something like that ... but once again she was struck with the urgency of their message. She decided it was best to come straight to the point.
"Listen," said Beth, "Mervin and I have been thinking over that Transcongus Brew." Cedric rolled his eyes but kept listening. "We think the brew works inversely ... more glory, shorter life. It sounds like the less glory you get, the longer you live. Like your uncle, you know?"
Cedric eyed her uncertainly. "Where are you going with this?"
Beth took a deep breath. "If you get to the trophy first -- just supposing -- it might not be a good idea to take it. I mean -- winning the Triwizard Tournament is one of the biggest things you can accomplish."
"You want me to lose on purpose."
"Well ..." Beth cast a glance at Mervin. "Yes. We think it might be safer."
Cedric's mouth thinned. "I intend to do my best."
"I'm not kidding, Cedric. Just think it over, will you? It could be dangerous ..."
Something was changing behind Cedric's eyes. "The whole thing is dangerous. I want it to be worthwhile."
Beth glanced at Mervin, who was watching Cedric warily. A dangerous timbre was rising in Cedric's tone -- she didn't know what to make of it. She tried once again. "But it's just a trophy ..."
"It is not just a trophy!" Cedric roared. "It's everything I've ever wanted!"
The room fell silent. Beth had never seen the mild-mannered Hufflepuff so angry. Or perhaps is wasn't quite anger ...? Cedric, pacing from one end to the other, ran his fingers through his hair before turning back to them.
"This tournament -- it's my chance! To prove that I'm not like -- like Lockhart, with a few lucky genes from my good-looking parents -- to prove I'm worth something! And Hufflepuff -- we've never, never had it this good! It's always people like Harry -- like you people -- the brave ones, the ambitious ones, they get the glory, while we just slave away in the background -- and we're supposed to be happy about it!" He broke off. "Well, I had to be brave and ambitious to take that potion -- and I worked hard at it, too! And it's worked. We are finally getting recognized. I am finally getting noticed!"
He made towards the door. Before he got there, he turned and pointed a finger at the Slytherins.
"If I get there first," he said, voice shaking, "I am taking the trophy. Because I deserve it. And if I was worried about the consequences, I wouldn't have drank that potion or entered this tournament in the first place."
The door slammed shut, and the classroom was left in silence.
