[Disclaimer: The monkey made me do it.]

Author's Note

Wow…what a lot of chapters I've done recently. Small ones, to be sure, but there you go. Anyone who wants an explanation of my disclaimer -- Bob, the green monkeh, is my new muse, since the Inspiration Skunk abandoned my pathetic plots and I. Bob's more fun than that damn Skunk, anyway. That's right, I have a plot monkey.

Ahem.

Anyway, I'll get on with the actual story. Seriously, who the hell actually reads the author's note? If anyone does…[waves madly]

On A Crooked Path

Chapter Ten: Gentlemen

By Adele Elisabeth

Cordelia read and reread the brief letter she had received earlier that day. It was from her late sister's late husband's sister, whom she vaguely recalled meeting at the wedding. She also recalled not particularly liking or trusting the woman in question, and with, as far as she could see, good reason. The letter had been brief, and to the point -- a child was in danger, and she wished to hire them to protect said child.

Cordelia had the sneaking suspicion that it was not quite so cut and dried. Gerad had told her once that if his sister ever said something was simple, then it would be a good idea to find out exactly what was in it for her.

Not to mention the fact that she'd heard Ms Perrault's name in connection to that Dark Lord chap -- and that was never a good thing. Cordelia Wilde was a former Auror, she doubted very much that it would be wise to get herself entangled with people of Lacrimosa's ilk.

However, a little bit of checking later said that yes, it was entirely likely that the young Miss Everly probably was in severe amounts of danger -- and Ms Perrault was offering an absurd amount of money to keep her out of it.

With dollar signs flashing in her eyes, Cordelia wrote a very simple reply.

Ms Perrault,

When do we start?

Cordelia Wilde

Hermione frowned slightly as she watched Helena enter the library. The other girl hadn't been to many classes lately, and no teacher was talking about it, but on the few times Hermione had seen her, she'd looked a little…off. Tired, maybe, but it seemed like more than that. There was a Slytherin ghost who'd also been seen with her, from time to time -- and Hermione was sure he was there now, even if she couldn't see him. It was subtle, but she was sure Helena was leaning on someone. You wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't been looking -- but Hermione was looking, and she was very observant.

Something was going on. And if it didn't involve Helena Everly, she'd eat her hat.

All the books she'd seen Helena reading had nothing to do with anything they were currently studying, and her reading habits seemed to vary, but for the most part, she was getting out everything the library had on Necromancy.

"The best books on Necromancy are in the Restricted Section, but you'll need a pass from one of the teachers to go in there," she commented casually as she walked past to pick up a potions text from the shelf a few rows down.

Helena's back stiffened, but she didn't reply; though Hermione did see her casting curious looks in the direction of the Restricted Section.

Hugh's mind was still reeling when he stood back in his apartment, clutching the parcel in his hand.

That had been…

He wasn't entirely sure what that had been, to tell the truth.

William was dead, that was true, but he wasn't gone.

William was a ghost.

In all the time since William's death, he had only once briefly considered that possibility -- running into Nearly Headless Nick on the way to Pomfrey's with Will's body. But Bianca, little Bumble-Bi, Will's darling sister…she'd been a Necromancer. And he could still remember the way she'd raged, screaming and crying because she couldn't find her brother. She'd searched, he'd gone with her, silently, as she raced through the school, and he'd held her when she finally gave up, her tears staining his shirt.

Bianca had died only a few years later. A spell, a powerful spell…he never discovered what it had been she was attempting, but it had backfired, nothing left of the sweet, wide-eyed little girl that had idolised her brother and his lover, nothing left of her except a crumpled, broken body clutching a bloody knife.

Hugh shuddered at the memory, forcing it out of his mind. Now was not the time for that.

What the hell was now the time for?

Will hadn't wanted to see him, that much was abundantly clear. He had been the last thing Will wanted to see. Their eyes had met, so, so briefly, and then Will had fled.

It shouldn't have surprised him; given the circumstances they had last seen each other in.

He wondered if he was allowed to let it hurt.

It was times like this William hated being dead.

Beyond warmth, beyond breath, beyond…beyond bloody booze!

That was what really bothered him about being dead. It meant right when you really needed a drink, you couldn't have one. Even when you didn't really need a drink, for that matter. Of course, he had to admit, when he'd been alive, he'd 'needed' a drink more often than not.

"Why are you here, Will?"

William glanced down at where Hugh played with the edge of the blankets he lay underneath. There was an oddly serious expression on the other boy's face, one he didn't often see. He caught the idle hand in his own, tangling their fingers together. "I thought you knew," he said lightly, teasing, "gentlemen prefer blondes."

The tension that had been there dissipated as Hugh laughed, "Well, then, aren't you lucky I'm not a gentleman?"

Hugh's moods were easy to read, the man wore his heart on his sleeve, but that had been one of the few times he had not been able to figure out just what was going on. Things between them had always been very simple, superficially at least. Hugh was far more complex than he seemed, there was so much more there than even Will had known. He'd lived from moment to moment, and he'd always brushed off Will's concern about it. Will wondered if Hugh still lived that way. He hadn't seemed the type to change, but Will supposed everyone had to grow up, sooner or later.

Well, not if you're dead, he amended silently, staring at his translucent visage in the mirror, frozen permanently at the age of his death. There were so many ghosts here in Hogwarts, if one cared to look.

Some of them he got on well with, some he avoided for one reason or the other. The Bloody Baron had always vaguely unsettled him, but it was the Tavington twins that he found, well, to be perfectly frank, disturbing. A little boy and a little girl, dressed in fashions that placed them in the mid-1700s. They were never apart, and the little girl with the wide, dark eyes never spoke. Her brother wasn't terribly talkative himself, but he had spoken.

Will had yet to meet anyone who had heard the little girl speak.

Nobody seemed to know exactly how they came to be here, and it was considered impolite to ask.

(In other words, the little girl was a rather odd creature and even other ghosts would rather not spend too much time in her presence)

Oh…look. He'd gone and gotten completely side-tracked. He was good at that. One minute he's wondering if Hugh would ever grow up, and the next moment he was wondering who the little girl had been, and why the twins seemed to avoid the Slytherin portion of the school. There had been a Professor Tavington, he recalled vaguely, Head of Slytherin, who'd died in 1755; he'd seen the man's portrait.

Well, perhaps he would look into that. He needed something to distract himself with, and he'd always wondered about that pair.

Morag watched Draco sleep. He looked much different when he slept, she reflected. Not so much the prince of Slytherin, the Draco the rest of the world got, but more her Draco. Maybe even someone else entirely. He hadn't been quite himself lately, of that she was certain. He'd been distant, and when he wasn't distant, he was snapping. Snapping at Parkinson was one thing (a very amusing thing, in fact). Being a bastard to her, with no provocation, was quite another. That she had made abundantly clear. He'd had no right and he'd been downright insulting.

She'd been startled, then hurt, then furious, and her expressions had probably changed appropriately. She wasn't very good at hiding her feelings when she wasn't really concentrating. When Draco started on her parents (god knew her family situation was a little precarious), she'd snapped back at least her father didn't kill her mother.

All expression on his face had shut down and her hands flew to her mouth. She'd apologised profusely until he took her in his arms and they sat there, quietly, him assuring her it was his fault, he shouldn't have taken out his bad mood on her. She'd felt so guilty she'd forgotten to wonder what the hell it had been about in the first place.

Draco was good at that.

Now she was wondering, though. She didn't know what to think. He'd lost his mother, and he was grieving, that made sense to her. She wanted to attribute his bursts of temper to that, she wanted very much to brush it off as part of the grieving process. It was just for a moment there, she'd been afraid of him. There had been something in his eyes and it had frightened her and…

She just didn't know what to think. She hardly knew what to feel anymore, let alone what to think.

"Morag?"

The blonde turned slightly to see Hermione Granger falling into step next to her -- they had Potions next, with Morag's father. "Yes?"

"I think I found something."

"It's a family history," Hermione explained, blowing dust off the cover of the book. "The Blake family history, all the way down to Thamala's mother. It doesn't have her in it, but there was one thing that interested me." She flicked through the pages until she found what she was looking for, and pointed.

Cassandra I. Blake marries Jean O. Everly

Morag's head snapped up to meet Hermione's expectant gaze. "Everly." She breathed. "I knew it."

***

A/N

[does a little dance] Oh, go me. Credits to George (aka Lovebunny) for the Tavingtons, as it was her character that I based the little girl Tavington on, and a plot that we created. They're going to be a part of the plot, soon enough…I have a lot of plot, don't I?