So began Beth's final year at Hogwarts.
In a strange way, the school year was turning out to be something of a letdown. Beth had gotten used to the constant emotional flux of the Triwizard Tournament, alternating with the Vase Room thefts. She had enjoyed getting to know the Durmstrang students. Now they were back to the same old academic routine and the same old faces. The only major change, in fact, was one that had come to be expected: the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
But to Beth, the strangest thing about the new school year wasn't the new D.A.D.A. professor (nutcase though she was), or even the elimination of S.S.A. activities. It was the absence of Richard.
When a couple of the bratty second-years got into a tiff one evening, for example, she expected to see Richard swoop in and break it apart, and was wholly surprised when Herne did instead. Sometimes at a meal she would even catch sight of his profile, and, turning, only find some brown-haired youngster who, likely as not, looked nothing like him.
She knew perfectly well that he wasn't going to be around, but that didn't stop her from subconsciously expecting it.
It was strange, too, to be among the oldest students in the school. After six years of underclassmanship, there was no one left to look up to. They often found themselves chatting about Hogwarts students who had already left, or good times from days past. Sometimes they talked about their future prospects: where to live, where to work, what was the cost of living. Usually they stopped, discomfited, when someone realized how much they sounded like their own parents.
Melissa worried about her grades. Bruce worried about Quidditch. Beth worried about her job for Professor Snape. Mervin worried about essentially everything, as was his habit, and made sure everyone knew it. Those were the concerns that they shared with each other, at the dinner table or in the common room.
Privately, they all worried about the Dark Lord.
But there were closer issues to be faced: Dolores Umbridge, for instance. By Thursday the word was passed among the Slytherins: if you have to be near Umbridge, be sure you're on her good side. She had given Potter a week of detention on the very first day, and there was nothing to indicate that she would hesitate to do it to anyone else.
"What for?" Beth asked, when Blaise delivered this bit of gossip between classes on Thursday.
"I couldn't exactly overhear," the girl admitted, frowning, "but it sounds like it had something to do with his mouthing off."
Beth found this explanation easy to believe.
Blaise moved across the grassy lawn just as another pair came up to it: Montague, sauntering across the courtyard, and Bruce, anxiously trying to intercept him.
Montague propped himself against a stone wall, barely honoring Bruce with a glance. "Got a problem, Bletchley?" he inquired, grinning languidly.
"We've got a problem," Bruce frowned, not looking as charmed at Montague's attitude as the nearby third-year girls staring hungrily at the captain. "I passed Hooch in the hallway. She told me Johnson has the pitch booked for Gryffindor practically all day on Saturday."
Montague regarded him coolly. "Point is?"
Bruce pushed back his hair in exasperation. "How are we supposed to have our trials with Gryffindors all over the place?"
"Blechley, Bletchley." Montague put an arm around Bruce's shoulder. "Have faith. Your captain has a plan. Just be at the pitch ready to try out after lunch on Saturday. You've got a good shot at the position if you haven't lost your touch."
He scrubbed his knuckles against Bruce's scalp in a fraternal fashion and strolled away across the courtyard.
Bruce was still staring after him when Melissa bustled up, books clutched to her chest and a proud smile on her face.
"Good news," Melissa beamed. "The other prefects want to go ahead with the N.E.W.T.s practice. Wednesday afternoons, just like before. Professor Flitwick's already agreed to lead the Charms part."
Beth shifted her attention from Bruce, who had turned back towards them, shaking his head. "Did you ask Snape yet?"
Melissa frowned a little. "Yes," she sighed. "He refused. Specifically, he told me that anyone wanting to pass their Potions N.E.W.T. should have spent the past six years paying attention in class instead of throwing eye of newt at each other." She cocked her head and looked at Beth. "Which was funny, I thought, because the only one I remember ever chucking around newt eyes was you."
Bruce snorted back a laugh.
"Spinnet deserved it," said Beth remorselessly.
Melissa went on with barely a pause for breath. "I think we'll focus on the things that everyone will be sitting for - D.A.D.A., Charms, History of Magic. Maybe a bit of Astronomy. The specialized subjects we'll each have to do on our own, but I don't see why we can't all brush up on the basics. And look what I've got us all."
From her knapsack she pulled a thick, floppy workbook.
Beth took it from her hands and looked it over. Bold purple letters were spelled out across the front.
"I've got them for all us Slytherins," Melissa said proudly. "If we spend all year on them then we'll have no problem. You keep that one," she said to Beth, "I've got loads." A group of Gryffindors strode past, and she gave a start. "There goes Towler, I'd better see what he thinks of my curriculum ideas..."
She hurried after him.
"She is nuts," said Bruce emphatically, but affectionately.
"And you don't even live with her," Beth added. "Sometimes at night, she'll get out her Who's Who in Wizarding Europe and read it like a book, like she's afraid she'll meet someone famous and not recognize them-"
"Hey," Bruce said, "there's Sally."
Bruce hurried up the steps and into the Entrance Hall, Beth following behind. Sally was chatting with some of her first-year classmates; when Bruce said her name, she turned around grinning. "Oh, hi, Bruce. I'll be along," she told her friends, who eyed Bruce up before scattering in the direction of the Charms corridor.
Sally clutched a pair of massive books to her chest, and Beth was struck anew by how very young she looked compared to her brother. He positively towered over her. "How are you, Bruce?"
"All right," said Bruce, leaning against the wall. "Getting along okay? Finding your classes?"
"Oh yes," said Sally, "I only got lost twice on Monday, and then a nice boy named Ron showed me where to go. Bruce, I thought you said the Sorting Song was always silly but we all found it quite strange."
"It's not usually so odd," Bruce admitted. "Well ... how're classes, then?"
Sally beamed. "Oh, they're excellent, Bruce - and you were quite wrong about Professor McGonagall, you know, she's strict all right but isn't she clever!" She went on without acknowledging Bruce's scowl. "And we started flying lessons on Wednesday - of course I did it right first off, and Madam Hooch was very impressed, she said she could tell I was your sister."
Bruce looked slightly mollified. "Course she could, you're a natural."
"I want to try out for the Quidditch team next year," Sally went on. "Our trials are on Friday and I would have tried this year, but Colin Creevey says nobody ever gets on in first year so you might as well not try - except Harry, of course."
Bruce's expression darkened again. "Potter."
Sally frowned as well. "You oughtn't call him that, Bruce, it isn't polite."
"Not polite?" said Bruce hotly. "That little twerp has been a thorn in my side since-"
"Excuse me."
They both looked up. A fifth or sixth year boy had interrupted and was looking down at Sally with a slightly worried expression. "Is this fellow causing you any trouble?"
There was a beat of silence. Beth's jaw dropped as she realized what the boy must have seen ... a seventh-year Slytherin standing over a first-year Gryffindor ... it certainly didn't look good, but how dare he assume...
"She's my sister," Bruce growled.
The boy glanced down at Bruce's sister, who nodded, and raised both hands in surrender. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Just making sure..."
"Go away," snarled Bruce.
"You know, people would like you better if you weren't so mean all the time," said Sally tartly, as the Gryffindor boy retreated. Beth hid a smile.
"I'm not mean," said Bruce, "and nothing I do is going to change anybody's mind about me at this point."
"You should try," Sally said stubbornly. "The Weasley twins say-"
"The Weasley twins!" Bruce gave a start. "You're hanging around with the Weasley twins?"
"Yes, and they're not half so bad as you say, Bruce, they're quite funny and they're paying me to test their inventions - they're very clever - I'm not sure what they do, because last time I fainted but it's very interesting-"
Bruce looked like his worst nightmares had come true. He grabbed his sister by her narrow shoulders. "Listen, I don't want you testing anything for those prats, do you understand? They're dangerous! They could kill you!"
Bruce's sister narrowed her eyes. "I think I can decide for myself what's dangerous," she said importantly, and swept down the hall with first-year indignation.
Bruce watched helplessly as she strode away; then he threw up his hands in angry resignation. "Whatever. Let her get poisoned by the Weasley twins. I'm just going to have to write Mum and tell her it's her own dumb fault."
He headed off to class, shaking his head.
That evening after dinner, Beth gathered her things and headed down to the dungeons for her first day of work with Professor Snape.
She had been in Dungeon Five literally hundreds of times (and sprayed frog brains across its ceiling once) but her heart still pounded as she walked the cold stone corridor. She had never had a real job; chores around the house didn't count, nor did the occasional odd errand for Mr. and Mrs. Scamander. What if she really hadn't learned enough in Alchemy to do it right? What if she dropped something, or spoiled a potion, or assigned someone the wrong grade, causing them to fail Potions, be expelled and live the life of a tramp and a vagabond for the rest of their pathetic years...?
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself. She had reached the doorway to Dungeon Five. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and went inside.
Professor Snape was already there, scowling over a clipboard. At her entrance he looked up and acknowledged her with the barest nod of his head. Snapping aside the clipboard, he gestured toward a table upon which stood thirty glass flasks, each one half-full with potion of varying shades of brown.
What was the function of that first potion? Beth tried to remember. "Cure for the boils," she said aloud.
"We can only hope," said Snape dryly. "You are, I assume, familiar with the basic boil hex?"
"What Slytherin isn't?" Beth grinned.
"The sorely disadvantaged one," Snape replied, with the bare hint of a smile. "You will cast the hex on this toad-" He produced a box from beneath the table containing a large placid bullfrog. "-and administer each potion in turn."
Beth momentarily pitied the toad.
"Those potions which successfully cure it are to be marked and set aside," Snape went on. "Those which produce ... less than acceptable results will be tested further to determine their exact flaws." He swooped down upon a flask which stood out sorely from its brothers, as it contained a liquid of vivid green.
"This is an obvious failure," said Snape, with distaste. "We'll use it as an example. As I trust you are by now aware, any number of errors could have been made in the brewing of this disaster..."
He showed her how to test for each ingredient and the order in which they were added, the temperature at which the potion had been boiled, stirring method, and several incidental factors which could easily spoil even a basic potion like this. (The green potion, it turned out, had not only been overboiled, but two ingredients were completely left out, and they found at the bottom of the flask two Knuts and some pocket lint. Snape gave it bottom marks.)
By the time they were halfway through that first batch of potions, Beth was astonished to realize that it was nine o'clock at night. She put aside another terrible job, cured the toad by wand, bid Snape good night, promised to return the following evening, and made her way to the common room.
Beth felt pretty good about her first day's work. She hadn't done anything irrevocably wrong; she was nowhere near as quick as Snape at analyzing the first-years' potions, but she hadn't expected to be. Once or twice she had even recalled a principle from Alchemy as it was called into practice. Maybe, she thought light-heartedly, she wouldn't do too bad after all.
She found Melissa, Mervin and Bruce clustered around a desk in the common room, copying each others' Charms homework. The essay they had been assigned, it was agreed, was entirely too long for so early in the year, and had obviously been meant as a group assignment. Beth told them about her new job (leaving out the technical details), and cheerfully joined them in developing creative synonyms for each others' work.
After nearly two hours of this, Beth finished rewording a paragraph of Mervin's about wand-motion theory and tossed aside her quill.
She yawned and stretched. "Common room's awfully full tonight."
"Is it?" Melissa glanced up without stopping writing. "I suppose you're right... Oh," she said suddenly, and put down her quill. She let out a little laugh.
Bruce shot a glance at her. "What's so funny?"
"It's just what Beth said," Melissa said, and her smile was a little sad. "Only, look who's here."
All three of them raised their heads and took a good look around. Across the room, Blaise and Morag were poised over opposite pages of a massive O.W.L.s prep book, sniping at each other contentedly and jostling for space. Audra watched coolly from amid a massive winged armchair while Mervin obtained a sound beating courtesy of Evan's skills at chess. Across the room, Oren sat alone, completely surrounded by Alchemy books and working furiously. Herne was sprawled on his stomach in front of the fire, flipping through a book about Quodpot and occasionally flicking a loose gobstone towards Evan and Mervin's chess game and receiving some very nasty looks in return.
The ten of them had the common room to themselves.
"Heh," said Bruce, with a lopsided grin. "It's Thursday."
"Old habits die hard," said Melissa.
Beth grinned. "I'll bet wherever he is, Richard's getting restless about now," she said.
She went back to her homework, but the silence that fell after her statement was so profound that she looked up again. Bruce and Melissa were both staring at her. Melissa looked positively stricken. Suddenly Beth realized what she'd said.
"Uh - didn't we always say he'd come back haunt the Vase Room?" she said, trying to make a feeble joke out of it.
Bruce's mouth thinned.
Beth looked down at her book. Her stomach felt weak, suddenly, at the awareness of her gaffe. Quietly she gathered her things.
"I'm going to bed."
Neither of the others made to stop her. Beth changed in the dark, careful not to awaken Antigone, and lay on top of the covers for a while, staring at the canopy that stretched above her.
A slip of the tongue like that could very well give up Richard's secret. Discovery would not only lose his advantage against the Dark Lord and endanger the Ledger; it would kill him. I have to be more careful, Beth thought, closing her fingers around the ring from Richard's mother which still hung around her neck. Care had never been more important.
At last she crawled under the covers and tried to sleep; but she noticed that it was a long time before Melissa came to bed.
No one mentioned her slip of the tongue the next day, for which Beth was deeply grateful; they must have forgotten it overnight. In any case, breakfast conversation was more or less typical: complaining about classes and comments on the weather, interspersed with incoherent grunts from the still-weary and occasional laughter over a letter or package from home.
Friday couldn't have come soon enough. It was a struggle just to get through Charms, and when Professor Vector made them spend the last thirty minutes of class on a set of odious calculations, Beth could hardly keep her eyes on her work. Just a few more classes and some time working for Snape, and she was free again - well, she amended, as free as it was possible to get in a school where you had a dress code and curfews. Not even to mention the chance of being spied upon by a recently-resurrected evil overlord.
She forced herself to focus back on her work. The summation of a series of numbers, n in quantity and represented by the figure k+3 where n varies from zero to infinity... Beth reached for her abacus, barely paying attention, and deftly knocked it off her desk.
The whole class looked up at the clatter it made; Beth pulled a trademark blush and retrieved it quickly. When everyone had done their sniggering and gone back to work, she turned back to her own parchment ... and paused.
The words of her textbook had melted together.
Beth gaped down at the dripping page, then around at the classroom. No one else seemed to have the same problem, and no one - including the Gryffindors, at whom Beth had looked immediately - seemed to be watching her for a reaction. She looked back down.
The ink from the page was struggling to separate, pooling into pockets and stretching painfully into spindly letters. Beth watched, fascinated, for a full minute while the droplets painstakingly rearranged themselves. When the ink stopped moving, six vast, dripping words were left on the page of her book.
WHY?
It took her a moment to realize what the words meant. The Society had inducted no new members that year...
...but who would know that except those who knew why?
The bell rang to end class, and Beth nearly jumped out of her chair. The mysterious words shattered and tiny drops of ink skittered back into formation. Soon the book was completely back to normal. Nearly unable to believe it had ever happened, Beth flipped a few pages in either direction. The words were gone.
Mervin paused by her desk. "Are you coming to lunch, or is this stuff just too darn interesting?"
"Coming," said Beth vaguely. She turned down the corner of the page to mark it, then packed up and left with Mervin for the Great Hall. She would have to tell Melissa, there was no doubt about that ... but she wanted to think it over first.
Saturday dawned bright and clear; it was easily the nicest day since the start of the school year. Beth awoke late and in a very good mood. It felt like the school week had lasted forever. At this point, she was very ready for a day off.
By the time she got to breakfast, most of the class was already there, some even leaving. The mail owls had come and gone; students up and down the table shared letters from home or scanned the Daily Prophet over their cornflakes.
Beth found Melissa near some of the fifth-years, sharing a newspaper along the usual lines (the society section for Melissa, sports for Morag, news for Blaise, the funny pages for Warrington). She plunked down among them and took her own traditional section - potions and industry - and settled in with a bagel.
Across the table, Blaise let out a wail and covered her face.
Morag leaned over and tugged the Daily Prophet out from under her. His broad speckled face creased into a smile.
"'Tis an article aboot Donaghan Trewlett," he reported, "whae dirls tha bass for The Weird Sisters. He's jumped tha broom with his bonny lass."
"Meaning what?" said Beth suspiciously.
"He's gaed and married."
Blaise let out a little moan.
"Oh Blaise, I'm so sorry," said Melissa, leaning across to pat her hand. "You do still have that handkerchief of his, from the Yule Ball, don't you?"
Blaise nodded mutely.
Mervin staggered up just then, clutching the side of his head. Half his face was black and blue; there were chalky white flecks scattered among his red hair.
"Peeves," he gasped, sinking into a chair. "Bust of Paracelsus... Wow," he said, staring directly at Warrington, "I think I'm seeing stars."
Beth couldn't help but smile as Morag and Warrington helped him to the infirmary. Some things were never going to change.
Morag, who still had the newspaper stretched out before him, let out a low whistle. "Hae a keek a' this," he said to Melissa, passing her the newspaper.
Melissa took it questioningly and read the article that Morag indicated.
She frowned and lay the paper onto the table so that Beth and Blaise - who had morosely raised her head - could also see it. "Someone tried to break into the Ministry," she told them in a whisper. "He wouldn't defend himself in court."
Both girls read the article (Beth upside-down). It was very short and gave precious little information; even the exact nature of his crime was concealed in the wording.
"Is he a - you know?" asked Melissa anxiously.
"Don't know," said Beth. "There's no description, and anyway it's hard to tell who's under those masks." She looked closer at the article. It was entirely possible that Sturgis Podmore had been at the meeting at the end of August. Why else would anyone try to break into the Ministry these days? His refusal to speak for himself only backed it up. Dozens of people had gone to Azkaban rather than betray their terrible master.
"Then he's starting to act," Blaise sighed, sitting back in her seat, white-faced. "Draco's been hinting at it all year - no details, of course, he's insufferable..."
Blaise was correct: the Dark Lord was beginning to put his plans, whatever they may be, into play. How long until he called on "his reserve, his elite"? And how long until he made some move that directly affected them all?
The sun shone cheerfully, but the day seemed darker.
