For copyright and disclaimers, please see chapter 1
22 – Classes, Week 38, First year

Monday, May 10, 1999:
Hogwarts, Herbology class: 09:00

The bell's ringing covered Pomona's sigh. She was dreading the first-year's class lately. Putting down her tea, she left her office, to find an argument in progress, two students being restrained by others.

"She's dead, Sprink! When are you going to realize that?" Charlie Adams insisted, as he was held back by Andrew Kirke.

"She is NOT dead, you insensitive PRAT!" she shouted back with tears in her eyes, as she was hugged by Arthur Morton, his heels dug in. He was assisted by the Cortez twins, who glared at Adams.

"What's all this about?" Pomona called. "Break it up, now! Mr. Adams, what have you to say?"

"It's about Mattie, err, Miss Wayne, Professor," Amanda Leeds said.

"Thank you, Miss Leeds, but I was asking Mr. Adams," Pomona said. "Mr. Adams?"

"That bastard Fudge has killed her somehow, I was saying that we ought to accept it and move on, Professor," Charlie said. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Sprink."

Pomona nodded, asking, "Miss Tonks?"

"She's not dead until I smell a dead body that's hers," Sprink said with a sniffle. "That body Fudge tried to pass off didn't even have the right blood type!" She relaxed, as did the three people restraining her. "I'll agree w' you about that bastard Fudge, though, mate."

"Well, now," Pomona said. "All I'll say is that until we get an accurate death certificate for Miss Wayne, the staff is considering her missing, not dead." She absently slapped her dragon-hide gloves against her desk. "Mr. Adams, Miss Tonks, you have a free period this afternoon, I believe?" They nodded, and Pomona said, "You will both stay after class for a detention. You were disrupting class after the bell rang. I have flutterby bushes that need pruning; we'll have a house-elf bring us lunch. Now then, we will undoubtedly find out more regarding Miss Wayne later. For now, we need to revise. Miss Leeds, what can you tell us about those flutterby bushes?"


Monday, May 10, 1999:
London, Wayne Enterprises, Conference room: 10:05

"Girl, you look like hell."

"Thanks, same to you," Selina said, looking at Sheila, "Any news?"

Lois shook her head, "We've been working over our contacts, no news since she was last seen being carried off by those dementor things." She sighed, asking, "What's Gotham like?"

Selina snorted. "Bruce actually got a delegation from the Iceberg. Scarecrow gave him a vial of concentrated fear to use on whoever's responsible, and Croc expressed his sympathies. As far as the streets, there are only two words: Hell Month, only this time, Bludhaven and Metropolis are also involved. Clark and Dick are also showing their displeasure. There's no escape."

Lois raised a questioning eyebrow, and Sheila said, "Usually in January, the criminals escape to Bludhaven or Metropolis to get away from Bats. About the only ones he doesn't put in traction are the working girls on the street." Slapping her fist, she cried, "Damnit! I was so close to her! She must have been carried right by me! But…"

"But you were unconscious," Lois said. "You were out for a week and a half. Since then, we've done everything humanly possible to find her."

"Including searching that courtroom, and those corridors," Selina said. "Twice. We'll find her. What's the status on the newspaper project?"

"On track for an end-of-June launch," Lois said. "We've got sports and financial sections by buying out two specialty papers, Quidditch Daily and Wizarding Business. We're leasing The Quibbler's presses and owls for production and distribution; we have a good core of reporters from other papers, including the Prophet. We have display ads in every wizarding publication we can find." She pulled an ad out of a folder, sliding it over to Selina as she added, "We're still weak on local stringers, but they'll come in. Three questions for the publisher, though?"

"What are they, Ms. Managing Editor?" Selina asked.

"We're settled on calling this The Reporter, subscription rates, and what kind of slant do we want?"

"That's your call, Lois," Selina said. "We're happy with that title, and I'd prefer no slant at all. Hard news, claws unsheathed to draw blood. Subscription rates, if we make a profit, wonderful, but we're trying to gain market share now. That's why the newsstand rate of five sickles, subscription at two, and the free month's delivery, we're undercutting the Prophet." She flipped through a broadsheet copy, adding, "By the way, I like the idea of having Pettigrew as the editorial cartoonist. Is there any way to get the paper out before Hogwarts lets out, though?"

Lois shook her head, "No, no way. Sorry. We'll sign Peter on, but anonymously. He's too good an information source to go public. Sheila has one of her legal friends from Butterbeer doing a legal news column, with an analysis of current Ministry rulings. No, Monday, June 28th should be a most interesting day."


Monday, May 10, 1999:
London, Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Creatures:16:07

"Girl, you look done in!"

Alicia looked up, and said, "I feel it, but at least I still have a job." She accepted the hot tea from her mate, musing, "I don't know what I'm going to do if Stephanie wants to play Quidditch."

"She got her letter?" Alicia nodded, her friend patting her on the shoulder. "I've got some good news, then. The jumble lists came out, there's some Hogwarts equipment on it."

"Oh, my! That means that a student's in Azkaban! I couldn't possibly…"

"There's nothing you can do for them. You know that," Alicia sighed and reluctantly nodded, and Donna Kirke continued, "You might as well snap up the uniforms and such while you can. I paid sixty-five galleons for Andrew's books and supplies last year, if you can get Stephanie's for twenty, you should snatch the opportunity. This includes girl's uniforms, textbooks and such." She patted Alicia's shoulder, repeating, "You can't do anything for that poor girl. Now chin up, and send the next client in, please."


Friday, May 14, 1999:
London, Ministry of Magic, Staff lunchroom: 20:35

"SOLD! Lot 232, assorted Hogwarts equipment, to buyer 18!"

Alicia stood, walking to the back of the room to pay the twenty-two galleons for the large oak trunk marked 'HMW'. Her mother would help in altering the uniforms to fit her daughter. She told herself, "I will not cry for that missing child and her parents. I won't."


Wednesday, May 19, 1999:
Hogwarts, Staff room: 08:48

"One final item," the Headmaster said. "The Wayne's have endowed a scholarship fund. It will cover all seven years of a student's expenses, including some pocket money, and there are four openings per year. If you know of a promising student, the address for their foundation is on your copy of today's agenda." He looked somber, asking, "Is there any other business?"

Pomona Sprout said, "I have a bit of business, but it only relates to the Heads. I'd appreciate a minute of their time before we go off to our classes."

"Pomona, would you like me to stay?" Albus asked, and she nodded. "In that case, have a good day, everyone, and meeting adjourned." As the faculty left, Albus levitated the tea set around.

As the door closed, Pomona stirred her tea; asking, "Does everyone remember Peter Jones? He had to leave school early a few years ago?"

"Acceptable potion grades on his OWLs, as I recall," Severus said. "Didn't he have to support his family due to a death?"

Pomona nodded, "Exactly. His parents were murdered by Death Eaters; he had to find a job to supplement his grandparents' pensions. They're in the Orkney's; his younger sister is a firstie in your house, Filius."

Flitwick nodded, "Rachael. She's on a scholarship. As I recall, she's doing very well in your class, Severus."

Severus nodded, adding, "As amusing as this is, I fail to see the point of this reminiscing."

"The point, Severus, is that I got an owl from Mr. Jones late last night. Before I read his letter, I would ask your impressions of Miss Wayne's character?"

"I understand Alastair had difficulty deciding between Gryffindor and Slytherin for her," Albus said. "While the pranks she participated in were amusing, there were none harmful. I found her a joy to teach, with a quick, ready mind. Severus?"

The potion master slowly responded, "She needed remedial spellwork, but most muggleborn students do. Her other marks were adequate. No real discipline problems, and on the whole, she was a most acceptable student for her year."

"She had a great deal of courage, and was not afraid to stand up for her beliefs," Minerva said. "As Severus said, she needed help with spells and charms, but that was not unexpected." She looked at Sprout, and said, "Out with it, Pomona."

"She's worth saving?" she asked rhetorically, and Filius said, "They're all worth that."

Sprout cleared her throat, and unrolled a parchment. "'Dear Professor Sprout,' it starts, and then goes through the usual pleasantries, 'As you know, I'm working as a guard at Azkaban. We recently had a new inmate arrive, a ten year old girl wearing Slytherin colours, last name of Wayne.'" Pomona held up her hand as people bolted upright. "It goes on to say, 'She was accused and convicted of the attempted murder of Minister Fudge by the AK, and was sentenced to life. She's down on level nine of the lifer's wing, and as of my shift yesterday, was still alive.'"

Pomona looked at Severus, and continued, "'What is your opinion of her character? There was no evidence included with her file from the Ministry, which is not the normal procedure, only the note 'Evidence to follow'. While this isn't the first case like this I've seen come in, she seemed very level-headed and asked several very uncomfortable questions of the warden, questions that I would like answered myself. I found it very unusual that she wasn't panicking at the thought of Azkaban, as most new inmates do.'" Sprout looked around the table; then picked up the letter, "He finishes, 'What can you tell me of this case? If you think she's worth helping, I'll do what I can, which isn't much for someone with a life sentence. Apparently, she is somehow linked to the Death Eaters by the Ministry, which I find rather strange for a ten-year-old girl. I am off Wednesday and Thursday, I await your owl at home. Sincerely, Peter Jones'"

Sprout looked at the table, and asked, "What do I tell him?"

"The possibility of Miss Wayne being a Death Eater and attempting the life of that idiot Fudge is extremely unlikely," Severus said. "If Miss Wayne or a member of her Clan wanted Fudge dead, he would be, quickly, efficiently, and without a trail back to them." Filius looked at him in alarm, and Severus waved him down. "You need not worry Filius; I have not been hiding a killer in my dormitories. Miss Wayne and her Clan hew to their oaths like iron. She would no more take a life than you could fly to the moon." He steepled his fingers, and mused, "While this may be the one thing to change their minds, they are not a Clan I would like angry at me." He looked up, and said, "What do we tell the Waynes', and the students?"

"We tell the students and the rest of the faculty nothing for now," Albus said. "There is no point in raising false hopes. Pomona, I suggest you selectively edit your reply to Mr. Jones. If I may have a copy of that letter, I will forward it to the Wayne's, and ask for their counsel and assistance. If you have contacts within the DMLE or the Aurors that you trust, it would be well to confirm this. Until then, we shall see what develops. For now, I think our classes call."

As everyone stood, Severus said, "Send one of those e-mails to Miss Wayne's sister-in-law Barbara. She seems to be the communication center for her Clan."


Wednesday, May 19, 1999:
Gotham city, Oracle's clock tower: 05:13 (GMT-5)

A soft ping announced an incoming email. Barbara turned, and looked at the sender: Albus Dumbledore. Swallowing hard, she clicked on it with a shaking hand.

To: Barbara Grayson
From: Albus Dumbledore
Subject: Miss Wayne

Mrs. Grayson,

New information has come to us this morning regarding your sister-in-law. There is a possibility that she is alive; our information is that she has been falsely convicted of attempted murder and sentenced to a life term in Azkaban prison. We are attempting to confirm this through other means.

I have not informed the students and other faculty, as I did not wish to raise false hopes. Only the Heads of our four houses are aware of this. I have transcribed the relevant passages from the letter we received below.

I await your counsel, and Hogwarts stands ready to assist in whatever method we might.

Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

She looked at Mattie's clock, her gift from Christmas, and touched the speed-dial for Selina's cell phone. It rang a few times; then she answered in a dull voice, "Selina."

"Selina? Babs. Get over here NOW. This is something you have to see." She forwarded the email to Bruce's private account; then called Lois.

"Lois? Babs. I'm forwarding an email to your private account. Read it, and then meet Clark on the roof. I'm paging him now; you'll both want to be here." With a few keystrokes, she forwarded the mail; then picked up the phone from Bruce.

"Bruce? You read it? Yeah, I was shocked. I've called in the troops to meet here and decide what to do. Clark is picking up Lois, Selina's on her way here. I haven't gotten hold of Dick yet. Right, see you shortly."

"Clark? Babs. Can you pick up Lois on the Planet's roof and fly her here? I just got a very interesting email and I'm calling in the Clan. I've sent her a copy. Right, see you shortly."

"Dick? Got a really interesting email, how close are you to the station? Okay, the gist of it is that Mattie may be alive. Yes, I'm calling in everyone; get here when your stakeout is over. Love ya babe, gotta go. Bye!"

"Hey, Doc? Babs. Got a really interesting email, how soon can you get to the Tower? 'Kay, see you soon."

She tapped her keyboard, forwarding the email, then speed-dialed again. "Sheila? Babs. Sending you an interesting email, it looks like we'll be visiting London sooner than we thought. We'll video-conference you in when everyone gets here, should be in about twenty or thirty minutes. Right, bye." She sighed, adding to herself, "I hate politicians."


Wednesday, May 19, 1999:
Bludhaven, police stakeout: 05:15

"Dick? You look like you saw a ghost," Amy Rohrback said.

"Na. They're translucent," he mumbled, then shook his head. "That was Babs; she just got an email that says my sister may be alive." He shook his head; then reached out a trembling hand for his coffee cup.

Amy reached out to steady his Styrofoam cup. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Dunno. I want to start running toward Gotham, grab the next flight to London. But we gotta wait for Torque to show up." He pounded his fist on the dash, spilling his coffee, and shouting, "Damnit!"

"Calm down, Mr. Grayson," Amy said. "I understand. We'll talk to the Captain when we get in. Will a couple hours matter?"

"I guess not," he said. He checked his watch, then said, "D'you think Branson and Dettrick would mind showing up a bit early?"

"Can't hurt to call in and ask," she said. "What about your leave time, though?"

"Screw my leave time, Amy, I don't care about that," he said. "This is my sister. This is Mattie. If I need to, I'll hand in my gun and shield to the Captain right there. My god, my sister is alive. How could I not go?"

She laid a hand on his arm, saying, "Hey, I understand. Let me see if I can get hold of Branson or Dettrick, ok?"


Wednesday, May 19, 1999:
Metropolis, Daily Planet newsroom:05:15

Lois stared at her computer, her mind whirling, "Oh, my god, oh, my god." With a shaking hand, she reached out to print the message, only to be stopped by her husband's hand.

"Let me see," he asked. She sat back, shaking like a leaf, whispering, "She's alive. Alive."

"Not confirmed," Clark whispered.

"But …"

"How's your story, finished?" She nodded jerkily, and he said, "Go send it, and I'll go talk to Perry while you finish up. Five minutes, ok?" She nodded, and shakily reached out a hand to the picture of the laughing black haired girl with green eyes, riding on Clark's shoulders. Clark gently squeezed his wife's shoulders, and then walked toward Perry White's office.

Clark knocked on the open doorframe, asking, "Got a minute, Chief?" Perry waved him in, and Clark took a seat, closing the door. He asked, "Remember our god-daughter, Mattie?"

"Yeah, a real tragedy, that. Why do you ask?"

"We just got a call from Gotham that she may be alive," Perry's head snapped up, and Clark continued, "It's unconfirmed at this point, but we …"

"This is regarding that business Lois had with the Queen?"

Clark nodded, adding, "We still can't talk about it. Sorry."

"Damn, I wish you could. You need time off again?"

"I wish we could write it, Perry, it's a heck of a story. But with Mattie, you understand…"

"Yeah, it's too bad you can't have some of your own." He sighed, asking, "What about Lois' story?"

"She was sending it when I left."

Perry turned and checked his computer, then said, "It's here. Personal funds, and this comes off your leave times, you understand?" Clark nodded, and Perry added, "Have a safe trip, and by god, I hope she's alive. Will you let me know?" Clark nodded again, and Perry said, "Go, then. I'll call HR and let them know. Oh, and Clark? If it's true, bring her by, I'd like to see her for myself, all right?"

"You got it, Chief."

"Don't call me Chief!"


Wednesday, May 19, 1999:
Hogwarts, seventh floor corridor:10:33 (GMT)

The Clan stalked out of the transport room. A young Ravenclaw took one look at their faces and fainted. Dr. Phillips hurried over, and gently revived her. She squeaked in fear on looking up at their faces, and tried to back against a column. He hushed her, and waved the Clan back, asking, "Do you know where the Headmaster would be?"

"In … in his office, I would think. Aren't you … "she swallowed and tried again, "Aren't you Wayne's family?" Bruce nodded grimly, and she continued, "Oh, my god, are you … you look ready to kill."

"The thought has crossed our minds," Dr. Phillips admitted, as he crouched next to her. "You're Miss Fawcett, aren't you?" She nodded, and he smiled at her, saying, "Don't worry, we're not angry at you, and we're sorry we frightened you. Would you know the Headmaster's office password by any chance?" She shook her head, and he asked, "Would you like us to help you to the Infirmary?" She violently shook her head, and tried to stand. She swayed a bit, and the doctor said, "I'll help you to the Infirmary, and no arguments, young lady." He helped her up, saying to the others, "I'll meet you later. If I remember right, the Infirmary's on the third floor."


Professor McGonagall looked up, then said, "Dr. Phillips, what is the matter with Miss Fawcett?"

He deposited her gently on a bed, smiled at Sprink, and said, "I'm afraid that we frightened her rather badly when we arrived, as our moods were not the best. She bumped her head, it looks like a mild concussion, and I thought it best to bring her here. What's the problem with Miss Tonks?"

"A misfired transfiguration spell," she turned, and said, "Oh, Poppy, you heard?"

"Don't worry, dear, you'll be right as rain in a minute," the nurse said as she bent over Susan Fawcett.

Dr. Phillips turned to leave, and Susan called, "Um, Healer Phillips?" He sat on her bed, and smiled at her, and she said, "I… I really wanted to say I'm sorry about Mattie. I mean, I owe her my life and …" she started to cry, and he pulled her into a hug as Sprink started to cry too. He held out his arm, and she cried on his other shoulder. After a few minutes, handkerchiefs were passed around, and he said, "Thanks. It helps to know she had friends." He gave both girls a hug; then said, "We'll see you later, all right?"


Wednesday, May 19, 1999:
Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office: 10:41

Minerva said, "Fainting Fancies" to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, and it moved aside, allowing them access. He gestured politely, and she preceded him into the room.

The Headmaster stood, dusting off his knees as he finished a firecall. He asked, "Minerva, how is Miss Fawcett?"

"Poppy said she'll be fine." The Headmaster nodded, and she said, "I understand she was a bit frightened when you arrived."

"I do apologize for that," Bruce said. "As you can understand, we were understandably upset to get the Headmaster's email."

"With good reason, I believe," Albus said. "Your expressions startled me! Healer Phillips, would you like to see the original letter?" He nodded, and it was passed over, as the Headmaster continued, "Mr. Shacklebolt was able to confirm, very unofficially mind you, that others have met a similar fate in Azkaban. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done for those poor souls." He held up a hand, and said, "I do not include Miss Wayne in that. I have a copy here of her official DMLE file, which none of you have seen, of course. Miss Hawking, I believe you would be the best judge of how to use this."

"Who is Mr. Shacklebolt?" Dick asked.

"Chief Auror," Babs replied, startling Minerva. "Like the chief inspector of the FBI."

"So how do we find her?" Dick asked, returning the scroll.

"I presume she is still wearing the tracking charm Severus gave her," Albus said. "Mr. MacDonald, who was standing in line behind her, did not see her give it to the guard outside the courtroom. She did, however give him a gold locket that I hope was not too valuable." He took a sip of tea, continuing, "However, that tracking charm is blocked by the unplottable spell on Azkaban Island. However, there are other methods. Try a 'Point me' spell."

Minerva looked at him, then held out her wand on her flat palm, and said, "Point me, Albus Dumbledore." The wand spun, and pointed across the room. She nodded; then said, "Point me, Mattie Wayne." The wand spun, stopped pointing northeast.

"Then all we need is to triangulate the position," Dick said. "Once we have it located, we can have one of you pop over there and drop a GPS on it, and then it's mapped down to a few meters."

"Half a meter, dear," Babs said. "You forget I'm using my own GPS beacons."

"Excuse me," Minerva asked. "What is GPS, and how much is half a meter?"

"GPS is the Global Positioning System. It uses a system of satellites to locate any spot on earth. For our purposes, it has an accuracy of half a meter, or about eighteen inches." Babs held her hands apart, then pulled a small device from her bag, "Here's my location and altitude as I'm sitting in this chair." Minerva got up and looked over her shoulder, then gasped, shocked. Babs handed it to her, saying, "Go sit down in your chair, and watch the display change."

Albus walked the device back to Babs, saying "The only problem with the plan is that we cannot simply 'pop' into Azkaban. It is blocked with Apparition wards."

"Seagulls and other birds fly through those wards, don't they?" Dick asked.

Minerva nodded, asking "Are you thinking of a rescue mission?"

"I think not," Albus said, and Selina whirled on him, stalking toward him with blood in her eye. "That's my daughter!" she hissed, while Albus backed up quickly. "Please, Mrs. Wayne, I meant no offense! I was only thinking of a scouting mission, to determine her status. Mr. Wayne?" Albus was backed up against a bookcase, four very angry women inches from him.

"What about a scouting mission? What do you suggest, Mr. Dumbledore?" Bruce said, standing behind his wife, a cold look in his eye. Albus swallowed, saying, "It is better, I think, to find the lay of the land first. This will enable us to determine our options."

"I'm going on it," Selina said with finality, as she stepped away from the Headmaster. That broke the tension, and Albus suggested, "I would also suggest Minerva. She is our transfiguration expert, which should prove most useful."

"How do we get there, and how big is this place?" Babs asked. "Do we have any sort of internal plans?

"There are two people on staff that have been there, Hagrid and Harry," Minerva said. "However, I do not believe that either one have been in the wing devoted to those with life sentences. I know of two former colleagues of Severus' that have, Bellatrix Black and Peter Pettigrew."

"I think for the moment that we had best make an appearance of normality," the Headmaster said. "Mr. Wayne, would you like to use your suite again? We can have Miss Tonks join you for lunch, and she can call her aunt Bella and invite her to floo over."

Minerva asked, "What about Peter?"

"Tomorrow morning, perhaps, Mrs. Lane might find an interview productive. Mr. Pettigrew is making a somewhat marginal living as a street artist." The Headmaster smiled, continuing, "With Minerva's consent, I shall join you as your backup. I would like to get out of the castle for a change, and perhaps the Weasley twins might have a suggestion or two."


There was a knock on the door, and Sprink came in, running to Selina's open arms and crying. After a few minutes, she ran down, asking, "Is it true? Is she alive?"

"We don't know," Bruce said gently. "We're planning a reconnaissance mission on Azkaban, but we don't have any inside information. Professor McGonagall said that your aunt Bellatrix had been there, we were hoping you could call her, invite her for lunch, and we could talk."

"Let me give her a firecall." Sprink took a bit of floo powder, threw it in the fire, calling "Bellatrix Black!" After a few minutes, she stood up, dusting off the knees of her tights, and backing away. Bellatrix stepped out of the fire, saying, "Good morning."


"I would be most happy to help," Bellatrix said. "However, I find myself forced by circumstance to be practical." Bruce motioned for her to go on, and Bella sipped her tea, adding, "Employment opportunities for former Death Eaters are, shall we say…"

"… a bit scarce?" Sheila asked. "Before you became entangled with Mr. Voldemort, what were your plans?"

"I had hoped to become a healer, as my sister has," Bella confessed. "I wound up doing some of that during the war, as St. Mungo's was off limits to us." She looked at Sheila, asking, "Is that still possible?"

"It is, with a few conditions." Sheila settled back, steepling her fingers and saying, "You would receive a Wayne Foundation grant to study medicine, both muggle and magical. This grant would cover your living expenses, some pocket money, clothing, tuition, books, and supplies, including a laptop computer. We will provide you a comfortable furnished apartment that you will share with another witch in our program. What you tell her is up to you." She smiled thinly, adding, "It's not Buckingham Palace, finances would be a bit tight for you, as they are for all college students, but neither is it hot and cold running vermin. This is an apartment building we have purchased and renovated near Cambridge University, using a wizarding contractor. We will provide suitable background, documentation, and so forth to enable you to live in the muggle world, where they do not know Bellatrix Black."

"Agreeable," Bellatrix said. "My part of the bargain would be…"

"You would learn the material, including your cover material. You will maintain the equivalent of 'Acceptable' or better marks in your classes," Sheila said. Holding up a hand, she warned, "You are looking at four years of medical school and then three years of residency before you start on the Healer's program at St. Mungo's. Being dual-certified and licensed in both the magical and muggle worlds will be a definite bonus for you, however. We can provide you with a false identity, although we would prefer not to. Your accounts would be set up with Gringotts, where we have an arrangement. This education will provide you a legitimate entry into St. Mungo's intern program." Sheila asked, "Do you have a legal wand?"

Bella sipped her tea, contemplating. "I do. I smell a condition, however."

"We will, on occasion, require some … 'off book' medical support. Aside from that, you will be a typical medical student, one who just happens to be a witch." Sheila sipped her tea, adding, "Of course, the Unforgivables remain just that."

"Of course," Bella said. She gazed at them; then said, "I accept."

"Excellent!" Sheila stood, and extended her card. "Please come by my office tomorrow morning at eight. We'll get the paperwork sorted, and then take a trip by our tailor and Gringott's. Now, what can you tell us about Azkaban's layout?"


Thursday, May 20, 1999:
London, Diagon Alley, Florean Forescue's Ice Cream: 10:13

"Mr. Pettigrew, I presume?" Lois asked.

The small man in the wheelchair looked up, saying, "I am, Miss …?"

"Lane. Lois Lane. May I join you?" At his nod, she smoothed her skirt, while he gazed speculatively at her. She nodded her head at the man sitting a few yards away, reading the Prophet, a cup of cooling tea next to him. Quietly, she asked, "That is…?"

"My DMLE minder," he replied quietly. He picked up a board, attaching a sheet of parchment, and started to sketch. "I know you, Ms. Lane. You did that rather nice series of articles about Lucius and Fudge." His eyes flicked about, saying, "Not wise for a muggle like you to come here without a bodyguard."

"I have one, Mr. Pettigrew, thank you. What's good here?"

He nodded, "Florean's tea is excellent, unless you prefer coffee." She nodded, and Pettigrew waved toward the counter. "What can I do for you, Ms. Lane? Are you looking at a follow-up series?"

"Possibly. What I've heard about civil rights in the wizarding world appalls me. However, right now, I'm more interested in Azkaban prison." She nodded at his developing sketch, asking, "Your rates for your artwork?"

"Ah, you understand that a poor artist such as I must eat," he said a bit louder, as Florean appeared with a tea service. "Would you be Mother, please?" Pettigrew switched to his right hand, adding, "Call me Peter, would you?"

"I'm Lois. Thank you," she said to the waiter, handing him several galleons. "On Mr. Pettigrew's account, please." He nodded, moving off as Lois added quietly, "I didn't know you were ambidextrous."

"My right hand is better for straight lines and fine detail, my left for caricatures. Thank Merlin I was able to get my right hand regrown. That magical hand had no sensitivity, no finesse. It was a blunt instrument, useful only for spellcasting." He looked at Lois, and asked, "Will you be returning to Hogwarts any time soon?"

"Later today, why?"

"I would ask a kindness. There were two young girls, dark skinned; they were wearing Ravenclaw Quidditch robes." Lois nodded, and Peter continued, "I would like to apologize to them, and to Mr. Potter. I … well, I was weak. I should have stood up to Lucius, he's the only one of that lot that wants the Dark Lord back, with the possible exception of Bellatrix. It's not an excuse for what I did, I know, but I'd like the chance to say it to them personally. I understand if they don't want to…"

"I don't think Ms. Black is too enamored of the Dark Lord either, but that's her business," Lois said. "I'll pass on your message, though, although the decision is theirs of course. Now, what can you tell me about Azkaban prison?"

"You are aware that the Dementors can't sense animals? I believe that's how Sirius was able to escape, in his dog form." Peter continued to sketch quietly, adding, "My own form is that of a rat. I have some communication abilities with other rats, so I was able to get a good idea of the patterns of the guards. A lazy, brutal lot they are." He looked at Lois, asking, "Who is it, and what's their sentence?" He switched hands again.

"My god-daughter, and Fudge gave her a life sentence," Lois said, the rage evident in her voice. "She's only ten, and…"

"And she's a firstie? She must be quite the witch," Peter said. "I assume she's somehow inconvenient to Fudge, as I doubt you'd have the same aura if she was guilty of whatever she's charged with," he mused, whispering, "CALM DOWN! You're attracting the attention of that dolt!" Raising his voice, he said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but that's the price of a group portrait! You can take it or leave it!" Whispering again, he added, "Do you know of the Marauder's Map?" She shook her head fractionally, and he whispered, "Ask Remus about it."

"I'll do that," Lois said, then raised her voice, "That's fine! I'll be in contact to schedule your visit!"

Peter tore off parchment from his pad, inserting it in a folder, adding, "Your portrait is two galleons, ma'am. I look forward to painting your family." Lois passed over several coins, and with a stiff nod, took her leave.


Across the street, Lois made eye contact with her bodyguard as she entered Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She started to poke around as the flatulent doorbell sounded again. A young redheaded man asked, "We don't get too many muggles in here, ma'am. May I fetch something to eat or drink?"

"Mr. Weasley, I presume?" He nodded, and she said, "Thank you, no. I'm waiting for someone."

"Who is here, Mr. Weasley," the bearded, brown haired wizard said. "Ms. Lane is with me. May we borrow your back room for a few minutes?"

The young redhead gazed at him; then softly said, "Whatever we can do to help, Professor Dumbledore. I'll be back in a moment." He nodded, then walked over to a dreadlocked fellow, saying, "Oy, Lee. Can you watch for a minute? I'll be in the back."


"Well, now," he said, holding out his hand. "Fred Weasley, at your service. May I offer you some tea? Unadulterated, I might add."

"Lois Lane, Mr. Weasley. Please, call me Lois."

"Smashing articles you wrote, Lois. Planning on a follow-up? How can we help?"

"Actually, I'm here in regard to my god-daughter, Mattie Wayne. She's been imprisoned, and …"

"… And you're looking to break her out," Fred said. "I wondered why our owls came back undeliverable. If she's in Azkaban, and you're with the Headmaster, she must be a bother to Fudge. Unfortunately, we don't have much information on Azkaban."

"We've got some from Mr. Pettigrew and Ms. Black," Lois said, and Fred held up a hand. "Excuse me? Did you say Pettigrew and Black, as in Bellatrix Black? How reliable is that information?"

Dumbledore spoke up, "So far, Ms. Black's information tallies with that of Hagrid and Harry's. We need to contact Remus regarding something called the 'Marauder's Map'."

Fred laughed, "I can help you there. Is this the information from Pettigrew?" Lois nodded, taking Peter's sketch of Lois from the folder, and laying it on a scarred wooden table. Fred drew his wand, tapping the sketch; saying, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The sketch dissolved, and lines appeared on the parchment, diagramming the prison. He tapped it again, saying, "Find Mattie Wayne." The parchment blanked for a minute; then another diagram appeared. He whistled, saying, "Nice bit of spellcasting there."

"Peter always was adept at charms and spells," Dumbledore said. He looked at the diagram, musing, "If this is correct, Miss Wayne is indeed alive."

"The Map doesn't show ghosts or dead people. Unfortunately, the Ministry twits are the only ones that know where Azkaban is," Fred mentioned. "May I make a copy of this?"

Lois glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded slightly. She said, "Certainly, and we're working on that particular problem."


Thursday, May 20, 1999:
Aberdeen, Scotland

"Point me, Mattie Wayne."

"Eight degrees west of north."


Thursday, May 20, 1999:
John O'Groats, Scotland

"Point me, Mattie Wayne."

"Thirty-three degrees east of north."


Thursday, May 20, 1999:
Kirkwall, Orkney Islands, Scotland

"Point me, Mattie Wayne."

"Fifteen degrees north of east."


Thursday, May 20, 1999:
Balfour, Sharpinsay Island, Orkney Islands, Scotland

"Point me, Mattie Wayne."

"Two degrees south of east. Damn, it's cold here!"

"Colder for her. Where next?"


Thursday, May 20, 1999:
Grobister, Stronsay Island, Orkney Islands, Scotland

"Point me, Mattie Wayne."

"Ten degrees east of south. Damn, we've done it! I could almost see it from this hill, I think." Dick shivered in his coat, and said, "Thanks, Harry."

"My pleasure, mate, too bad about the fog. Shall we get back to Hogwarts?" Dick nodded, and they apparated away.


Thursday, May 20, 1999:
Hogwarts, Wayne suite: 17:13

Bellatrix whistled at the Azkaban map, shaking her head. "I always thought Pettigrew was sneakier than he let on. He should have been sorted into Slytherin."

"I do not believe that would have been the wisest course for Mr. Pettigrew at the time," the Headmaster said, restored to his aged appearance. "He is one of those individuals that require tempering in a fire. The question here is if that selfsame fire will warp Miss Wayne's metal, or make it stronger." He took a sip of tea, adding, "It would be preferable for Miss Wayne to be released legally, of course. However, we must plan for other contingencies. Mr. Wayne, Mr. Kent, Mr. Grayson, Ms. Hawking and I will work on securing her legal release, while Mrs. Wayne, if you …"

"Will plan her jailbreak," Selina said with a smile. "It won't be the first one."


Saturday, May 22, 1999:
Hogwarts, Wayne suite: 11:43

Barbara said with a smile, "Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, may I present to you … (Dick drummed on a table) Azkaban prison!" With a flourish, she flipped a switch, and above a circular stainless steel table, a solid three-dimensional figure appeared.

"Amazing, truly amazing," Pomona said as she moved about the table. "How is it done?"

"It's a magnetic resonance field, generated by three sensors Dick and Clark installed on this tower here," Babs said, as she reached to touch the diagram. "The field is a kilometer in diameter, or about thirty two hundred feet. It goes from Azkaban up to a satellite, and down to our unit here. I'm not showing structural members, and as you can see, it's live data, people are moving in it."

"Magnetic? What is it reading?" Severus asked.

"It detects the iron in blood. The computer assigns the color coding and numbers. You'll notice that most of the people are behind iron bars, wearing iron chains," she pointed. "Red for females, blue for males, and the yellow color is for unknowns."

"Those have to be dementors. What about that black one on the third level?" Pomona asked.

"He's dead, they just haven't removed him from the cell," Barbara said. "If you notice something else, it will give you size readings down to five kilos in mass. You see the cats in the prison, and if you look here, you'll see these two small inmates, one male, one female that are very close to the warden's office."

Pomona gasped, "Is that Miss Wayne?"

Barbara shook her head, looking disgusted, "No, she's down over here. Those children I think are the warden's special, permanent 'guests'."