"Fred! Guess what?" called George, as his brother walked in to the shop after nipping off to the Leaky Cauldron.

"What?" asked Fred, setting two glass bottle on the counter. He took a swig from the open one in his hand.

"We just got an order for 700 boxes of Worple Warts from a customer in Bulgaria!"

Fred eyes widened and he began to cough, slamming the bottle on the counter with one hand as he clasped the other over his mouth. "What?" He gasped, between coughs.

"700 orders. I know. I reacted the same when Lee told me."

"You inhaled about a liter of soda into your lungs?" Fred wheezed, grasping the edge of the counter, his eyes watering as he looked up.

George gave his brother a few quick thumps on the back, and went on. "He was planning on sending some to his nieces and nephews, because he heard about their popularity here. I guess he either likes them a lot, or is trying to bribe them into likeing him. He spoke of the money like it was nothing."

Another owl hit the storefront glass.

"Again?" asked George, moving to scoop up the dazed bird from the sidewalk.

"Who washes those windows?" asked Fred.

The twins both shrugged.

"Hey, this is addressed to Lee!" George shouted, picking up the letter.

Lee poked his head out from the back room, where they stocked extra supplies, as well as the newest advancement in Muggle technology—a "typewriter." He'd been filling out an order form of their most recent purchase. "What about Lee?" he asked. "I heard my name."

George held up the letter, and with a wave of Fred's wand, it jumped out of his hands and landed in Lee's.

"Read it," Fred said.

Lee opened the letter, and quickly read over it. "Uh-oh, guys." He said.

"What?"

"It's from my Mom. She says my cousin she's been watching is going to be staying with me for a week."

"That's not that bad, is it?" George asked. "I mean, we haven't had much customers anyway, so—"

"You don't understand!" Lee cut in. "Listen, her nickname is Crazy Sybil, and she's 12, but she's already taking fourth year classes in Ravenclaw."

Fred whistled.

"She's got these crazy premonitions, and she knows more about the famous witches and wizards of England than anyone else I know of. The girl's absolutely crazy." He groaned.

"Yeah," agreed George, leaning against a display of Puking Pastilles. "Who'd want to know stuff like that?"

"Exactly."

"When's she coming?" asked Fred, tossing Lee one of the bottles from the Leaky Cauldron.

"One o'clock today."

George looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Lee, confused. "It's one o'clock right now," he said. "Or at least it will be in—"

A loud crack sounded in the shop.

"No apparating!" they said together, angrily pointing to the sign.

"Sorry, Lee. But you should really consider that no one can see the sign until they're already here. Anyway, your mum told me to." The newly apparated girl said, tossing her curly yellow hair over her shoulder.

"Since when can you apparate, Sybil?" asked Lee.

"Oh, I learned it this summer. Cool, huh? Mum didn't want to have to take me places all the time, so she arranged I learn it. I got permission from Dumbledore and the New Ministry and everything."

"She must be smart," whispered Fred to his brother.

It was a rather loud whisper, and Sybil probably heard it, but if she had, she didn't acknowledge it. She felt she'd outgrown pride when she was in second grade.

"So, what are we going to do this week? Since you're not in school anymore, maybe you can show me around? I'm too young to go places by myself, but you're 18 this year! How about a trip to—"

"No trips, Sybil," Lee said. "We're going to stay here and mind the store. I'm a working man now."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "And I'm Lucille Scott."

"Who?"

As he neared the mansion, he was almost certain his fingers would require amputation, it was so cold. Off the mountain it was a lot better, but since Hogsmede was in a valley, it got a lot of cold winds, and with the onset of winter, the chill was almost unbearable to stay outside as long as he had. But he was almost there. He tried to quicken his pace, but his blood had slowed too much to move very quickly. Still, he had to get there. He could see his destination, he could smell the heat of the wood-burning fire, and he could hear the savage bark of the pit bulls behind their barbed fence. Floodlights immediately switched on, and the black-cloaked traveler had to shield his eyes from it. Pain exploded in his head as his pupils dilated. After the pitch black of night, and after the trailing journey in the cold, the pain was intolerable.

With a chain of loud explosive pops, the bulbs shattered and fell sizzling to ground, plunging his world into darkness again. The traveler gave a relaxing sigh, as his eyelids fluttered down. He could feel the pain fading away, like the cloud of his breath in the icy wind.

As he approached the door, the dogs quickly silenced themselves and bowed their heads, as they tried to tuck their stump tails between their legs. Several whimpered, and one wet himself.

The traveler gave three sharp knocks on the door with his boot.

"Open the bloody door," he muttered, rubbing his hands furiously, and trying to resist the urge to tear the door from its hinges.

Just as he was about to do it, the door opened.

"God damn you bloody wizards," the traveler scowled, shoving aside the owner of the house and shrugging off the coat as he headed for the fire.

The owner stood gasping against the wall where he had been pushed. He couldn't speak, except for a word, and a lot of stuttering. "You…" he gasped, shocked, and frightened beyond belief.

"Shut up and close the bloody door," came the voice from the figure crouched by the fire, his fingers only a few inches from the flames. He gave a sniff.

"You're cold," the man beside the door said, finding his voice.

"How'd you figure that out?"

"Let me get you something to drink." He slammed the door shut again.

"Something hot," suggested the traveler.

"Certainly." He hurried to the kitchen and filled a mug with water. "Caliente," he said, tapping it with his wand, and stirring in a few spoons of cocoa mix.

When he brought it to his guest, the man only nodded and set the cup on the hearth. He wasn't stupid enough to gulp a steaming cup of hot cocoa no matter how cold he was.

"So…" began the owner of the house. "I guess I know why you're here, and um…" he ran a hand though his clean, styled hair. "Listen, just give me a few more days!" he pleaded. "I don't have the money with me right now, but I know I can get it, I just need more time!"

The traveler continued to stare into the fire, seemingly hypnotized.

The indebted man looked uneasily at him, waiting nervously for a reply.

When it came, the traveler's voice was smooth and controlled, its previous anger forgotten in the hypnotism of the flame. "Seems to me that you've no lack of money, Good."

Mr. Good winced. Please, not his property.

"However, that's not what I came to ask for. Right now all I want is a bed. I've had a hard journey, and I can't bear to talk to you right now. Fetch me as many blankets as you can find, and no matter what happens, don't disturb me until noon tomorrow. I'm a tired man, and I've earned my rest.

"She's from where?" asked Fred again, as they were closing the shop.

"Germany," Lee said. "Her parents are from Africa and The United States, but they were raised in England, and she was born in Belgium, but was raised and lives in Germany."

"Why doesn't she have a German accent, then?"

"Because her parents were raised in England and spoke English," he said, irritably. "And since in Germany they speak German, she learned English from her parents, and picked up their accent. That's what they speak at home, too, so she knows it as well as you do."

"Oh," Fred said, trying to work out who was from what country. "Gotcha."

"Just keep sweeping," Lee said. "Our mums are off somewhere together, so my aunt left her with me. She's home alone right now."

"Yeah, but you said she's mature."

"She is. Just…"

"Fred! Lee!" cried George, from the back room. "Look at this!" He rushed to meet them, shoving a piece of parchment into their faces.

"It came today, when Sybil was here."

Fred snatched the letter out of his hand, and his eyes darted back and forth across the print, widening as he read. "No!"

"What?" asked Lee, his mind running over countless possibilities, mostly involving Söme. "Who's it from?"

"It's the Department of Businesses. We need to make a payment on our shop, and we need the money by Thursday," George said solemnly. "The cost is 400 galleons."

"What!" cried Lee, unable to control his surprise.

"But the initial cost of the shop was 900, and we paid that! We're going to have to make 400 galleon payments every month? For how long?"

George shook his head. "I think two years. Diagon property is high on the market, and we were warned about this when we bought the place."

"That's so unfair, though!" Fred moaned. "We just started this buisness! We've only begun to pay off the other starting costs, like production, displays, and the glowing sign! Not to mention the fact that about 100 galleons of stuff was destroyed when our lab—"

"SHH!" George and Lee hissed urgently.

"Anyway, we don't have the money," Fred went on. "Once we pay off those costs I expect we can get it pretty quick, but we haven't had time for that yet. We need to talk to the ministry."

"But we're just kids to them!" Lee pointed out.

"No, Lee." Fred said. "You said it yourself to Sybil—we're buisness owners."

"You're up?" cried Mr. Good, when he reached the bottom of the stairs and discovered his guest already awake, dressed, and sitting in his favorite chair, reading the Daily Prophet. He glanced quickly at the window and saw the sun was just barely over the treetops. He hadn't overslept—it was just after dawn.

The guest lowered his paper ever so slightly to peer over it at his host who stood at the steps, his expression a blend of confusion and disbelief. "What?" he asked. "I thought I told you not to disturb me until noon."

Mr. Good shook his head, overcoming his surprise. "Aren't you tired, after your long journey?" he asked. "You can't have had more than five hours of sleep! Surely you are exhausted."

"No," the guest said simply, raising his paper with a deliberate rustle.

"Why not? Is it because you're a--"

"You ask too many questions, young man."

"I'm 24."

"You're young."

Mr. Good's shoulders sagged in disappointment. He wasn't used to being made to feel inferior. He was rich. Nobody questioned the rich.

"Go on, get out of here." The guest growled.

Mr. Good obeyed, and went into the kitchen to see what the house elves had prepared for his breakfast.

At noon, Mr. Good rapped on his guest's bedroom door. He'd seen owls going in and out the window all day, and when the man emerged, he spoke little, and quickly went back to his correspondence. Though suspicious, Mr. Good knew enough not to ask questions. He'd known his guest for many years, though he'd only seen him on occasion. He tried to avoid encounters because of the debt he owed, for he never seemed to be able to collect all the money at once. His guest often held that against him, and the perpetual reminders weighed heavily on Good's mind. He was afraid the man would grow impatient, and take the cost out of his property.

In fact, he was afraid of the man in general. He wasn't a wizard—that was clear, for he was very vocal about the fact, and voiced his contempt for wizards loudly and often. What kind of magic he had, though, Good didn't know. He could only guess that it was powerful, and its limits were unknown, because the man refused to talk about it. Good feared him in his anger, but he had to face him despite that, and try his best not to make him mad.

His knock earned no reply, and Mr. Good decided to try again, louder. Knock knock knock. Still no reply. He raised his fist to knock a third time, but suddenly, just as it begun its descending arc, the door opened.

The guest had thrown the door open, however, and was standing to the side, as though he'd been expecting the knock.

"I'm sorry, sir!" exclaimed Good as he saw him there. "I didn't think you were coming, and I almost hit you," he apologized.

"No need for apologies, Good." Said the man. "You didn't hit me."

Mr. Good looked nervously to the side. He wanted to ask what had been going on, but fear held him back. He could see no sign of anything strange in the room. "You wanted to talk to me, sir?" he said clumsily instead. "It's past noon now, and…"

"Oh, yes," he said. "I remember. Come, make a fire and we will discuss it downstairs."

Mr. Good prepared the room with a few swift flicks of his wand and some quiet incantations. There were soon two velvet upholstered chairs pulled up alongside the fire, which was roaring in the fireplace where previously there had been only ash.

"Draw the drapes," the man told him, his voice starkly serious.

Mr. Good did as he was told, and the light was choked out from the room, only creeping in though a few open edges where the cloth did not quite meet the border. It cast long, thin bars of light across the room, which besides the fire became the only source of light.

"The doors," said the stranger.

Good shut them. Their locks slid into place.

When he was content the room was secure, the man sat down in one of the chairs, his back to the window, and motioned for Good to sit as well. "I expect you have your own suspicions of why I've come here," he began solemnly. "Probably they've all to do with money. Well, you're wrong."

Good sighed, his relief evident.

"They've only partly to do with money," the man continued. "That is, the 11,000 galleons you owe me."

Good's face paled. Even in the shadowy light, his disappointment was hard to miss. It was as bad as he'd suspected. The man said partly though. That meant there was more, he thought grimly, and listened.

"I need your help in a very important matter, and it will cost us both, but I believe it is worth it." The man continued. "You don't know much about my powers. I've never been a wizard, as you've figured out. I wasn't raised as a wizard either, but I was… adopted into it, I guess you could say. And the one who rescued me from the muggle world, the one who nurtured my powers until I was strong enough to survive here, the one who accepted me even though I didn't have your magic, became my savior, and in time, my master.

"The nature of my powers is a mystery even to me. I know what it can and can't do, and to an extent, how it works, of which I will tell you only a little. I disclose only as much as is necessary for others to know, and if they must know too much, then I in turn must kill them. Understand, it is not out of malice that I do this, but out of protection. If the mechanics of my powers became known, than people could learn how to exploit its weaknesses, and for the sake of my master, and his friends, I can not tolerate such a possibility."

The man looked at Good with a startled expression, concern in his eyes. "Breathe, lad!" he exclaimed.

Remembering himself, Mr. Good exhaled the breath he'd been unconsciously holding, and gave a small involuntary shiver.

"Don't worry, dear friend, I will not tell you much," the man assured him.

Since when had this man ever called Good a friend? His words didn't comfort him, for though he claimed he would say little, Good thought that he had already said too much. How could he think that he would not guess from the man's description that he had been taken in by Voldemort? The master and his friends, for whom the man must kill people in order to protect seemed a little too familiar to be passed off as anything else. Surely, he must know this, and if he did, wouldn't he already have to kill him? Good worried.

"You've chosen an excellent point to begin," the man continued. "The first aspect of my magic, and the one I noticed right away, was the ability to read people's minds. That is how I know that I have nothing to fear from telling you openly I serve and love Lord Voldemort. You will not tell, because you know how we can kill you, and we will not hesitate to do it. I read it in your mind, and I know you are aware of it as well. Though often useful, it is a hazy ability at times, for if the person is near me, I can sense their general ideas and emotions strongly, though not very acutely. At a distance, I can pick up vague information, but sometimes a specific person's mind will come to me with great strength, drowning out all the other images. Still, this is unclear, but oftentimes when I get their ideas, I can figure out the specifics on my own.

"A few weeks ago, I was in the mountains, for a reason I cannot name, and I received an image stronger than any I'd had for months. One word came to mind when I saw it, and I had a name for the feeling: evil. I climbed the mountain higher, not knowing whether it would help, but hoping it would help me to receive this person's thoughts more clearly. I was three weeks before I found the mind again. I found it was that of a boy, and he had been brooding silently in his bed over this thing." The man laughed. "They'd taken such precautions that we would not know," he said. "Secret meetings and guarded words. They knew their words could betray them, but they never suspected their thoughts."

Good shifted his weight nervously. A boy? He didn't like the direction of this conversation.

"What I ask of you now, Good, is that you get me a kilogram of this stuff called Söme. Go about it in whatever ways you like, from the most honest, to the cruelest thing you can imagine. I don't care. I want the Söme, and if you get it for me, I will erase your debt completely. I hope that will be enough of a bribe to earn your service? If it is not, hopefully the knowledge that I will kill you otherwise will be sufficient, but I already know that is not going to be necessary. So, Good. What is your choice?"

He called this a choice? Good couldn't think of anything to say. It seemed that he would descend to the morality of a death eater if he did it, but the alternative was none too pleasant either, and his debt… well, his debt didn't seem so important anymore.

"Well, Mr. Wizard?" the death eater asked, a cruel smile on his face. "What do you say?"

Good looked into his face, silhouetted by the covered windows, and distorted by the flickering shadows of the fire, which robbed his features of all humanity. Suddenly he saw the man transformed as a demon, his small, razor-like teeth bared in an impish smile, and his eyes lit with a hellish glow. He imagined he heard the sound of the devil's laugher. There is no way out! Came its shrill cry. Good covered his ears. It didn't matter—the death eater could hear inside his head anyway.

The man laughed. Pure, human laugher it was, without a hint of malice, and it blended with the demon's voice, but at the same time captured Good's ears and pulled him back to the reality before him. "Good," he said, as his laughter died away. "You have five seconds to make your choice." He was bent over in his chair, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on interlaced fingers.

Good sat up straight, his eyes darted to the side.

"One."

There wasn't a choice.

"Two."

Fate was cruel—cruel and heartless.

"Three."

"I'll do it!" he cried.

Silence.

The guest smiled.

"Somehow, I knew you'd say that."

"Ok, ok, let me get this straight," George said, giggling. "Idiot in German is 'der idiot?'"

Sybil nodded, and the twins fell into another bout of laughter.

"So could I say 'Snape ist der idiot?'"

"Snape er ein idiot," Sybil corrected. "Yes. But not to his face!" all three of them laughed this time.

"You know Snape?" asked George, surprised.

"Yeah! Didn't you hear, George, that she's an exchange student at Hogwart's this year? That's why she's in the area," Fred said. "Right?"

"Right," Sybil said.

"Why'd you come at this time?" George asked. "With the You-Know-Who revival going on and the Azkaban escapees, and the Ministry of Magic incidents? It's definitely not the time I would have chosen. And it's a wonder your parents let you, too! My mum would go nuts."

"Well, my parents had been panning it for a long time," she said. "And they felt I'd be safe at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore there, so they didn't want to call it off." Sybil giggled. "Know what my favorite thing about Hogwarts is?"

Fred and George exchanged looks. The expression she had on her face lead them to believe it was not "the food."

"I get to go to school with Harry Potter!" She squealed, jumping with glee. "He's so cool, and not to mention cute!"

"You've got a crush on Harry?" asked Fred.

"Yes! Are you kidding? All the second and fourth year girls do. He's so cute."

"Oh." Fred said.

"Have you ever talked to him before?" Sybil asked eagerly.

"Well, um… we may have had a passing word once or twice, yes."

Sybil clasped her hands. "Lucky!"

"Yeah, well… I don't think he's that cute," Fred muttered.

"Oh." Sybil said. "Right."

"Why aren't you at Hogwarts, Sybil?" George asked. "It's not holiday."

"Well, yes, I know. But my mum wanted me to spend some time with the family as long as we're in England. I've been doing my schoolwork at home."

"Don't you miss Snape?" teased Fred. "Oh, he's so cute!" Fred clasped his hands together and sighed. George laughed as Sybil hit him.

"Hey!" she protested. "That's gross, Fred!"

"Sybil and Slimeball, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S—"

"CUT IT OUT!"

"Hey guys, what's going on in there?" called Lee from the back office, where he was typing out order forms.

"Nothing!" Sybil, Fred, and George shouted in unison.

"Lee's no fun," Sybil whispered.

"What do you mean?" asked George.

"I mean he's always so serious! He'd never do something like this."

Fred scoffed. "Lee? Naw!"

"Sure he would," said George. "Lee's hilarious! You should've seen him when he used to announce for quidditch games!"

Fred laughed. "I hear the new announcer's been trying hard to live up to him. Lee sure revolutionized the announcement there. Gosh, that guy's a hero. If I still went to Hogwarts, I'd miss him."

"Are you talking about my Lee?" Sybil said in disbelief. "I can't picture it."

"How long've you known him? If you lived in Germany your whole life, well… Lee's been here. If you've only seen him a few times every couple of years, maybe you just need some time to really get to know him." George said.

"Yeah!" agreed Fred. "He probably needs some time to warm up to you."

"But—"

"Just give him a chance. It's obvious you haven't met the real Lee."

Sybil frowned. The real Lee? He'd seemed so anxious lately, she guessed something was wrong, but couldn't bring herself to ask what. She thought he resented her for having to stay with him, but from what the twins said, he didn't seem like that kind of person. What could make him so nervous all the time, she wondered? And how, then, would he ever get past it and open up to her, as the twins said he would. What a puzzle boys could be.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream sounded in the store.

"Customer!" whispered the twins to each other with excitement. Sybil rolled her eyes.

A man dressed in fine robes came into the store, his head down as he stared at a piece of paper in his hand. He looked around the store uncertainly and tucked the paper away, striding up to the counter with lotr-elven grace. Sybil's mouth dropped, and the man, noticing, flashed her an adorable smile, his grey eyes glinting for a moment. Then he looked down shyly again. "I'm looking for Lee Jordan," he said to Sybil and the twins, who were at the counter. "Is he in?"

"Sure," George said, pointing to the back room. "Want me to get him? HEY, LEE!"

There was no answer. "Lee?" George asked again, poking his head through the door. He turned back to the man at the counter. "Huh, I guess he isn't anymore. Should I leave him a message?"

The man paused, thinking, and shook his head. "No," he said. "I'll come back tomorrow." He turned to leave, but when he was almost out the door, he turned around. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have heard of a thing called Söme, would you?" he said hastily, holding the door.

"What?" squeaked George, trying to contain his surprise. His heart beat so fast he thought it might explode.

"Ah, no. Didn't think so. Sorry," the man said. "Forget it." And he was gone.

"He knew about Söme?!" cried Lee when he got back and the twins told him. Sybil had been sent on errands for groceries, quills, wand wax, and other various supplies that would require her to go all around the town to find. Lee panicked. "How's that possible?"

"I don't know, he just knew!" said Fred.

"What're we going to do?" wailed Lee, on the verge of hyperventilating. "This can't be happening!"

"We're going to have to tell McGonagall or Snape, or… or Moody or somebody," George said. "This is too big to handle by ourselves."

"I wish Dumbledore was here," Fred sighed.

"We'll have to go to Hogwarts tonight or tomorrow," said Lee decisively. "We can't just stay here and wait for him to come back."

"But Hogwarts is locked up!" Fred protested. "Without Hagrid to help us in this time there's no way we'll get through. Our best bet is to send a letter to McGonagall."

"But by the time a reply gets through he'll be here," Lee argued. "That's too late!"

"Yeah," George agreed. "I don't like his looks. Let's just get out of here. Even if we can't get into Hogwarts, at least we won't be here."

"What about Sybil?" Lee asked. "We can't leave her at the store with that strange man around."

"We'll have to take her with, then, or leave her at home," said Fred.

"She'd ask questions."

"Fine, then she'll come along. You can tell her something like we're picking up a potion or something for the store."

"No," said Lee. "She's too perceptive. There's no way we'd all be able to convincingly hide our anxiety."

"Fine, well, it's up to you, whatever you chose to tell her," Fred sighed. "She's your cousin."

"Ok," Lee said, resigned. "I guess I'll have to tell her a bit of the truth, then. Not enough to hurt her, just enough to stop her questions. Let's close shop, and leave when she gets back."

It was only five minutes before she did get back, though she'd only found half the things and then lost the list and had to return.

"Sybil," Lee said, when she arrived. "Can you come with me, love? I've something important to tell you."

"Okay," Sybil said, confused, as Lee took her by the hand and lead her to the back room, where he shut the door. "What's going on, Lee?" she asked.

"Something's come up," he said gravely. "The twins and I accidently discovered something dangerous a few weeks ago, and now we need to go to Hogwarts, because what we found might not be a secret for much longer. We have to leave tonight."

"Oh," Sybil said, frowning. "How long will we be gone?"

"At least to tomorrow night," he said. "Why?"

"You'll never guess who came to the store today," she said, quickly forgetting the seriousness of the situation.

"Who?" Lee said, his brow furrowing.

"The richest man in Hogswash, the most brilliant person in London, and the most handsome man in the entire U.K." Sybil sighed. "Elisha Good."

"Really?"

"Yes, and he's coming back tomorrow!" she said, clasping her hands over her heart. "I was too speechless today, but when he comes back I'm going to get his autograph. Do you know him? He was asking for you."

The mysterious customer! "Um… no. But we can't stay and wait for him. We have to leave tonight, and it's very important that you don't speak a word about this." He said, placing both hands on her shoulders for effect. "Do you understand? We could be killed."

"I don't understand, Lee," Sybil said, backing away. "I don't understand what's going on, or why you're acting like this. But I'll keep quiet."

Lee sighed in relief. "Thank you," he said.

Sybil opened the door. "You guys can't apparate," she said, realizing.

"We'll have to make due," George said. "If you want to apparate and meet us, you can, but we're taking the night bus, then walking. It's almost half past seven, so the bus should be just starting its route."

"I'll come with you," Sybil said. "Best not to get split up, especialy if things are as dangerous as you say."

"Let's go then," Fred said. "Grab your coats guys."

It wasn't long before they'd caught the Night Bus and were on a ride none of them would soon forget.

"I think I'm going to throw up," groaned George, as the bus screeched to a stop for a passing animal.

"Fred? George?" Lee said, lowering his voice. "Have you ever heard of a celebrity by the name of Elisha Good?"

"No," Fred said. "What's he look like?"

"Extremely hot, apparently," groaned Lee. Light brown hair, blue sometimes grey eyes, well dressed, cute smile?"

"Um… is there something you're trying to tell us, Lee?" Fred asked. "I mean, not that it would make me think any different of you, but—"

"This is what Sybil told me," he said. "I don't fancy men, thanks."

"Ok, well, just checking," Fred apologized.

"Anyway, I found out from Sybil that he was at the store today, asking for me. Now does the description ring a bell?"
"That guy was a famous person?" gasped Fred. "Wow!"

"What did he want with Söme?" wondered George.

"Probably he's a death eater," Lee said. "What else?"

"A cute death eater?" George said, with a laugh.

"Sybil was upset that she wouldn't be around tomorrow to get his autograph."

"Well, we're going to be out of here when he comes around again. Hopefully that'll be the last chance she gets to talk to him."

"Yeah," George agreed. "Hopefully."

The Night bus was able to take the four children as far as Hogsmede, and from there they didn't have trouble getting into Hogwart's grounds. They were familiar with all the old ways, and it was not as heavily guarded as they'd thought it would be. However, it was late by the time they arrived, and the castle would certainly be locked up for the night. Hagrid, fortunately was still up, and happy to offer to take them in for a second time.

It seemed like they had just closed their eyes when Hagrid came to wake them up the next morning.

"Wake up," he said, shaking them. "You don't want to miss breakfast."

The twins and Lee all hurried off to the castle, leaving Hagrid and Sybil behind, unable to keep up.

"Now how do yeh like that," said Hagrid, watching them go.

"Oh, don't blame them," Sybil said. "They've got urgent buisness. That's why they came here. There's something strange going on, and it's got them all very afraid. I don't know what it is, but I aim to find out."

"Ah. Well, that's okay, then, as long as it's not plain ingratitude. They look like their tail's on fire."

Sybil watched as they went in through the castle's side door, and dissapeared. "No," she said. "I suspect it's something much worse than that."