Chapter Fifteen: Down the Alley

It took a long argument and a long time, but Melissa was eventually convinced that the Guild should be told about Professor Umbridge's non-Death Eater status. She agreed with Beth that they didn't need to explain how they found out, but it was Bruce who finally made up her mind.

"If we don't tell them," Bruce said, with a meaningful glance at Beth, "they're eventually going to figure out a way to tell for themselves. Then they'll test everyone in the school. When they do..." He gestured at Beth, who impulsively laid a hand over her arm.

In the end Melissa agreed, but with the stipulation that it be Evan who would pass on the news: he was looked on with such suspicion by the entire school, that having found out something like this couldn't much harm his reputation. Characteristically, they had no sooner popped through the floor of the Guild headquarters than Evan dropped into an armchair and declared:

"Professor Umbridge is not a Death Eater."

Deirdre fixed him with a sharp look. "I would ask you how you could be sure, but I know you won't tell me."

Beth grinned. The Ravenclaw Chair already had Evan pretty well figured out. Evan cast her a smirk.

"For the moment I am prepared to take you at your word," Deirdre told him, sounding as if she would be willing to revoke her trust at any moment. "That means that Umbridge's actions are either her own or Ministry-dictated. You will alert us if her status changes."

Evan's interest had wandered. He did not reply.

Deirdre cast an irritated glance at Melissa, who shook her head and said, "He's always like this."

"It's the best news we've heard all year," Cho Chang commented. "I was almost afraid that You-Know-Who had got somebody into Hogwarts already."

"Good news?" Anthony Goldstein spoke up disdainfully from the corner. "My dear girl, this only confirms that the Ministry will be no help in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"My dear boy," Cho retorted, "I don't care if they don't help us so long as they don't help him."

"I hardly think that will be the case," said Anthony, matching her tone, "as the Dark Lord has yet to strike."

"He killed Cedric."

The small library grew painfully quiet. Cho glared at Anthony; then, slowly, tears began to leak from her dark eyes and run down her cheeks. She covered her face and turned away.

"Well," said Anthony, looking very uncomfortable. "Well, I - I do see your point, of course."

"Cease and desist, Goldstein," Deirdre ordered. "Cho, do have a hanky." She pointed her wand at Cho Chang and a lacy-edged handkerchief exploded from the tip and landed in Cho's lap. The girl took it gratefully and blew her nose. "Corner, how goes the Defense club?"

Michael, who was watching Cho, turned reluctantly back to address the Chair. "It's good. We've spent a lot of time on the Impediment Jinx, and the Reductor Curse as well - by the way, try not to run afoul of Parvati Patil. She's way too good at it."

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Cho managed a smile past her hanky, at which Michael seemed very pleased.

Mervin spoke up. "What are you all planning to ultimately do with the District Attorney - I'm sorry, Dumbledore's Army?"

Many of the Slytherins guffawed; the Ravenclaws looked faintly offended, or at the least taken aback.

"We are taking the opportunity to learn," said Anthony, looking irritated. "And - I suppose that if we are called to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we will be prepared."

"You'll be prepared," said Mervin, looking him solidly in the eye. "But will you fight?"

No one answered.

-'-'-

That night, Beth dreamed about Josef Poliakoff.

They were standing in the dungeons, mixing a potion that was the rancid pink of Professor Umbridge's favorite cardigan. Josef was telling her stories about the Guild. "They are an army too, you know," he told her, his Russian accent crystal-clear even in her dreams. The cauldron turned into a wooden model of the Durmstrang ship, which Beth picked up to admire.

"Ve are all an army, Beth."

"I don't want to fight," dream-Beth told him.

Josef smiled. He leaned down to her ear, and whispered -

.

"Wake up, miss!"

Beth sat straight up in bed, her heart hammering. Whatever squeaky-voiced creature had spoken in her ear, it most certainly was not Josef Poliakoff.

A creature roughly the size of a cat scrambled down to the foot of the bed. It reared up, unsteadily, and collapsed to one side. As it struggled to right itself, Beth recognized the small body and enormous ears: Richard's house-elf.

"W-Wobbly." Beth pulled the covers up to her chin breathlessly. "Hi."

The house-elf bowed until his nose touched the bedspread. "Wobbly brings a message from young master," he said in a highly theatrical whisper. "Very secret, very important. Wobbly is the only one he would trust with the message," he added importantly.

"Oh." Beth scooted straighter up in bed. "What is it?"

"This."

Wobbly reached behind and then held out his open hands. Between them he held a small ceramic pig.

Beth gazed dubiously at the colorful little hog.

"Three o'clock on Thursday," whispered Wobbly.

"Oh!" said Beth, suddenly understanding. "Oh, right. Where will it send me?"

"Wobbly can't say, miss," said the house-elf apologetically, as Beth picked up the Portkey from his hands and looked it over. "Too secret to be said. Young sir will meet you. Very anxious," he added.

Beth grinned. "Is he?" She patted the pig figurine on the head and dropped it into the pocket of her nightgown.

"Has miss a message to send young master?" inquired Wobbly eagerly.

Beth thought about it. Nothing she had to tell him was so pressing that it wouldn't hold for two days. "Tell him I can't wait."

The house elf gave a smile of pure joy. "As you say, miss." He bowed at the waist. Halfway down he lost his balance and went toppling face-first into the coverlet; and it was in this manner that he faded out and vanished.

Beth settled back into bed, slipping her hand into her pocket to feel the tiny pig-shaped Portkey. She wasn't sure why, but the thought that Richard was looking forward to seeing her made her smile.

-'-'-

The following day, Wednesday, wasn't bad, but Thursday went very slowly.

With the little ceramic pig weighing in her pocket, Beth found it hard to concentrate on her classes. Herbology, always a session of utter torment, seemed to stretch for hours. Defense Against the Dark Arts was even less bearable than usual. Lunch was interminable; even Potions, her favorite class, only seemed a distraction. She was going to meet Richard - nothing else came close in importance.

Finally, she crammed her equipment into her cauldron and took off for the dormitories. She dropped her things and changed hastily into jeans and a sweater, throwing overtop her old cloak, the one from which she had painstakingly removed the Hogwarts crest. Grasping the pig tightly, she hurried outside to the broom shed.

She had hardly waited for two minutes when she felt a familiar tug and the Portkey sent her whizzing through space.

She landed on her rump in a heap of straw.

Groaning, she picked herself up and looked around. High above her arched a raftered ceiling, with owls roosting on nearly every clear piece of outcropping. Feathers and pellets littered the thatched floor. A little girl stood nearby, clutching a tatty two-headed teddy bear. A broad shelf filled with wire and wicker cages separated them from a handful of other people, who could be heard beyond it but not seen.

The little girl gazed up at her curiously, fingers in her mouth.

"You fail your App-apation test?"

"Portkey," Beth explained. She dropped the pig into her pocket and looked around. So this was the place "too secret to be said": Eeylops' Owl Emporium. Well, she thought, sighing, at least he didn't drop me in the middle of Trolls R Us.

The little girl skittered away at the sound of her mother's voice, still looking back over her shoulder. Beth was left alone in the corner of the Emporium, staring up at the long rows of perches and many rotund owls flitting up and down, or hiding, headless, from the daytime sun. It was like a placid nursing home, Beth thought, with rows upon rows of mid-afternoon snoozers waiting to be woken for dinner.

Something caught the corner of her eye.

Very slowly, she turned slightly so that she could make out the thing in her vision: a tall figure, wrapped in a worn brown traveling cloak and hood, dressed in black, his face obscured by a faded green-and-silver scarf. He stood immobile in the corner, his faceless hood turned directly toward her.

Beth turned around.

"You're lucky Potions is over by three," she told the dark figure. "I might not have made it."

"You wouldn't skive off for me?" said the face behind the scarf.

"Potions? For you?" She smiled up at him. "Hi."

"Hi yourself," said Richard. "Follow me."

At the exit of the Owlery he turned and led her down an alley until they stood behind the row of shops; the crumbling brick, bins of trash, and close atmosphere ensured that they would not be disturbed.

Richard pulled back the hood of his cloak. His hair was less well-cut than before, the angles of his face perhaps a little sharper, although he still wore the old, proud grin. Marring his face, however, and totally obscuring one eye, was a large leather patch.

She let out a gasp involuntarily. "What happened to you?"

Richard looked puzzled for a moment; then he let out a laugh. "This?" he said, pointing to the eye patch. He pulled it off to reveal a perfectly healthy eye.

Beth smacked him in the arm. "You could have warned me it was just a disguise!"

"It's not just a disguise," said Richard eagerly, holding it out. "Put it on. Just try it," he said impatiently, when she hesitated. "No, not like that, you have to keep your eye open - that's it, loop the band behind your ear ... there you go... Now - what do you see?"

Beth opened both eyes. "You." Something else was happening, though ... the inside of the patch was lightening like a slow television screen. There wasn't movement exactly, but a sort of image ... a sort of vision ... the inside of a room took shape in front of her covered eye. She squinted a little to make it out - her jaw dropped.

"The crypt!"

"Right," said Richard smugly. "There's an amulet fixed to the upper corner of the crypt facing the wall of names. It beams the image directly back to the patch. He can see us at any time-" There was no need to specify who "he" meant. "-but I can see if he's doing it."

Beth took off the eye patch and handed it back. "That's really brilliant," she said, genuinely impressed.

"Couple of the alumni helped me cook it up," said Richard modestly, readjusting the patch over his right eye. "Dave Gudgeon's the one who went into the crypt to set up the amulet."

"Dave Gudgeon is crazy," Beth noted.

"He's got nerve," Richard agreed. "And Dorothea Fox - remember her? A former president - somehow got me a schematic of the walls, so I can tell roughly who's being spied on."

To hear Richard speak casually about plotting and planning was more of a relief than Beth had expected. It was almost like the old days.

"It sounds like things are going well."

"Really well," said Richard eagerly. "I've made contact with a dozen alumni I'm sure I can trust. I work out of my flat at night and for cover I've got a job during the day."

"A job?" That hadn't even crossed her mind. "What on earth do you do?"

"I work in a potions shop, actually," said Richard, with a bashful grin. "Just odd jobs, really. Sweep the place, carry things, watch for shoplifters, make sure nobody drops a bottle of Stinksap or something."

"Stimulating work," Beth grinned.

"It's not at all bad," said Richard indignantly. "It's not the sort of thing I've ever done before. And my boss is really excellent. You'll meet him," he added. "I want to pick up some things at the shop before we head back to my flat. Now, remember not to call me by my name while we're there," he warned her. "I've told him my name is Rob."

"And there's no chance he'll recognize either of us?" Beth said. She thought Richard looked a great deal like his father.

To her surprise, Richard grinned. "No chance at all."

Putting up his hood and wrapping his scarf around his face again, he led Beth down Diagon Alley, past the shops and stores, through the somewhat light crowd of Thursday afternoon. Beth wished she'd brought a scarf of her own; she felt distinctly dodgy, and kept looking over her shoulder as if certain that somebody would realize she was supposed to be in school.

Finally they reached a steep, forbidding staircase descending into a murky stone alleyway. Beth glanced at the sign on the wall and shook her head.

"Knockturn Alley. I should have guessed."

"You should have," Richard agreed. "It's the only place to go on the lam. Not so bad once you're used to it."

"Except for the murderers all over the place," said Beth, although she knew you were just as likely to run into a Death Eater in Hogwarts these days.

She followed him down into the alley. The stone walls, which had gleamed on the main street of Diagon Alley, crumbled and rotted along the dark, narrow way. The cobblestones were uneven. Here and there, the row of dingy shops was broken up with a seedy pub. Beth stuck her hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around her wand, just in case.

Down a branching alley, Richard came to a halt before a small canopied shop with an ancient show window which read simply "Brews" in faded gold letters. Richard gave two brisk knocks before pushing open the door. A bell tinkled at their entrance.

Behind the counter, a hunched man was arranging the contents of a shelf behind him. There was a cleaning rag slung over one shoulder. He didn't bother to turn around; it was as if he already knew who had come in. He called:

"Rob, me china. Brought a customer, did you?"

"Hosea, this is Beth," Richard said. "She's a friend. A good friend." He winked at Beth.

The man behind the counter turned his face toward them: an old face, tan and weathered, but very sharp and intelligent, with a great humor around the eyes and mouth. Both his eyes were the solid, creamy blue of the blind.

"It's nice to meet you," said Beth.

She held out her hand, then drew it back, realizing he couldn't see it - but the old man thrust out his own gnarled hand and she shook it, gratefully.

"Well met," he said, grinning a bit. "Just a good friend, is she, Rob?"

"Er-" Richard turned pink and Beth bit her lip against a laugh.

"Rob's a good man," Hosea said. "Good worker. Bit of a butterfinger, truth be told..."

Richard bobbed his head in embarrassed admission. "That's why he keeps me sweeping the floor most of the time. And watching the customers - you'll never believe what people think they can get away with down here."

Hosea was nodding. "I am no fool, miss, but it does good to have a sighted chap in the corner, some days."

Beth couldn't help herself. "So you hired a guy with an eye patch?"

"Aye, that's it - two men in the shop, and only one eye betwixt them!" Hosea roared with laughter.

"And yet he always seems to know when I'm bunking off," said Richard.

"Now, Rob," said Hosea, wagging a finger, "it doesn't take but one ear to hear a snore."

"You are wise beyond your years," Richard intoned. "Your many, many, long, musty years-"

"Off with you!" growled Hosea, chuckling. "No doubt you'll be wanting to take the lady someplace more respectable."

"Nonsense, they'd never let me in anyplace respectable. I'm just here to pick up my things-" Richard scooted around the counter and retrieved a canvas knapsack from the floor. "-and we'll leave you to business. Are you going to need help mixing up the Lethe Elixir tonight?"

Hosea waved a hand dismissively. "Not tonight, me boy, better to work alone than with an assistant who wishes he were elsewhere. Besides, delicate stuff that. Strongest forgetfulness potion in the world. Splash that and who knows how you'll end up. You two have a good time now. Pleasure to meet you, miss," he added, smiling in Beth's general direction.

"Nice to meet you too."

"Put up your hood before we go back in the street," Richard advised, as the bell jangled above them. "Basic Knockturn precaution..."

He led her down the alley in the opposite direction from which they had come, away from Diagon Alley and into the oppressive, winding streets of Knockturn Alley. Richard kept a firm hand on her shoulder. Whether it was his faded Slytherin scarf or merely his height and bearing, something about them accorded a measure of respect from passing witches and wizards; at least, no one jostled them too badly or cast them more than a sly appraising glance.

By then they were so deep into Knockturn Alley that the slums stretched out endlessly in all directions. Everything was chipping paint, rusty iron, and warped wood. Finally Richard slowed and stopped. "Left," he murmured.

Beth turned. Before her stood a pair of houses, split by three planks of fencing, each shabbier than the other.

Richard approached the two, but didn't turn toward one or the other. Instead, he went straight up to the fence and put a hand on the middle plank. The twisted wood bore an equally twisted knothole near the top. Richard pulled out his key - the one Beth had thought looked like an iron lollipop.

"Now, hold on to me."

Beth put her hands around Richard's elbow. He inserted his iron key into the knothole.

There was a rush of warm wind from below them; then it died out.

Richard turned the key.

Without warning, the two houses sprang apart as a high, dilapidated stone building expanded between them, pushing both out of the way. Beth hung on tightly to Richard's arm as the structure grew to its full size, to finally display an overbearing, flat-fronted apartment building with shutters over the many barren windows.

Richard gave the key another half-turn and the door creaked open. Nodding encouragingly to Beth, he pushed inside, while she, almost afraid to let go, came with him.

The hallway she walked into had the dry, cramped feel of prior centuries. The rich magenta carpet was threadbare; a few small paintings hung skewed on the wall, as if no one ever bothered to look at them. Cobwebs filled in the corners; here and there a feeble lamp was lit, struggling to shine past the cloudy glass bulbs. Every few yards, a bare wooden door nestled tightly into the wall. Every door was closed.

The front door slammed shut behind them and Beth jumped. Richard glanced over at her in amusement. "Come on, I'm upstairs," he said cheerfully, and led her down the hall to a rickety wooden staircase.

"You have a lot of neighbors," Beth noted, trying not to fall through the warping stairs.

"Yes, though I don't see much of them. Most of them are ... let's say this isn't a place you'd live if you're hankering to be found."

"Criminals."

"Yes, largely," Richard agreed. He led her down another corridor, this one carpeted in worn blue velvet. "Of course they'll all claim innocence. But you've also got some runaways, a few pairs of adulterers - they never stay long - there's one poor fellow who's here to avoid a duel ... any reason you can think of. Afternoon, Ludo," he said to a large, round-faced man hurrying by.

"Afternoon," the fellow muttered back, and scurried downstairs.

Beth stared after him. "Wasn't that ?"

Richard nodded, a glint in his eye. "Ludo Bagman. He's been here since the end of the Triwizard Tournament - word is he couldn't pay off his gambling debts to the goblins. Not such a bad fellow. Always in the mood for a card game."

"Glad to see you're making friends," said Beth, shooting him a wry look.

"Here we are." Richard unlocked the door and swung it open. He hesitated. "It's a bit ... erm, cluttered..."

"It can't be that bad," said Beth, and followed him inside.

She stopped and stared.

It was incredible how filthy the room had gotten in so short a time. Every shelf in the kitchen was empty; a handful of dirty bowls and spoons cluttered the sink. Books and clothes littered the floor - an old Slytherin scarf was tossed across the back of the only chair in the apartment. A worn patch in front of the window attested to the fact that Richard's pacing habit had worsened. Richard's owl Nero, perched on what appeared to be a dead potted tree, hooted bleakly from the corner and hid his head farther beneath his wing. Richard shrugged out of his cloak and went to drop it beside a shabby dining room table that was piled two feet high with parchments.

"Not doing so well without a house elf, are we?" said Beth crisply, catching Richard's cloak before it could hit the floor. She slung the cloak over the back of the chair, beside the scarf.

Richard gave a bashful shrug. "It just sort of piles up," he said, gesturing helplessly around him.

"Yes, things do tend to do that when they're put on top of each other." She started compulsively tapping the parchments into even piles.

"Leave it like that," said Richard, gently pulling her hands away from the mess. "Wobbly wanted to come along, but you know it would be far too suspicious if he disappeared..."

"He was really excited that you let him bring me the Portkey."

"Yeah," Richard said fondly, still holding onto both her hands. "He's so loyal. We sort of grew up together. I do miss him." He cast her a faint smile. "You too."

"Nah, I don't really miss Wobbly," Beth teased, grinning up at him - but then Richard found an effective way of silencing her which, Beth admitted, was more fun than talking anyway.

-'-'-

Safely behind a door which Richard swore was soundproof and hexed three ways from Sunday, they could finally sit and talk about the most pressing thing on their minds: the rise of the Dark Lord, and the Society's part in it.

"I'm still trying to feel out the alumni," Richard told her, seated across from her at the cluttered table. "There are a good few on our side, but there are plenty who would be ready to follow the Dark Lord at the drop of a hat - and plenty more who we're not sure about."

"Better safe than sorry," Beth agreed. "I wish the Society at Hogwarts could be doing more to help. But we only hear hints. The thing in the Prophet about the guy who tried to break into the Department of Mysteries-" Richard nodded thoughtfully at the memory. "-and Artaxerxes Manning, losing a weekend's worth of memory."

Richard paused. "How did you hear about that?" he asked, his voice suddenly testy.

"Grubbly-Plank." Beth didn't like the way his tone had changed. "Why?"

Richard relaxed. "I don't want that story getting out," he admitted. "If people start linking them, the Society could be exposed, and that's not good for anybody."

Beth heard what Richard didn't say. "It happened to more of them?"

Richard cast her a grim glance.

"How many?"

"Five so far." He gestured to the piles of parchments on the table. "Just a few hours at a time. And that's not all he's doing. He moved Dell to the Daily Prophet. He sent Nott to see Mr. Ollivander - has Melissa told you- and ordered two dozen wands. No pay, no fitting, no clue who's going to be using them. He ordered Dorothea Fox to accept a position on the Wizengamot that one of Dumbledore's supporters left vacant. He had Dave Gudgeon transfer from a dragon reserve in Romania to the one in Wales. Artaxerxes Manning was moved from the Ludicrous Patents Office to the Obliviators - do you see what he's doing?"

"He's putting us in position," said Beth bleakly.

"Like pieces on a chessboard." He fiddled with a broken quill lying on the table. "And there's Bode."

"Bode?" Beth hadn't heard anything about the Unspeakable since she had seen him at the meeting in July. "What happened to him?"

Richard hesitated. "He's insane."

Beth laughed. "Well, I knew that."

"No, really insane," said Richard uncomfortably, and Beth stopped laughing. "Something happened to him. Something went wrong ... he's babbling, he can't walk straight ... they've got him in a special ward in St. Mungo's."

"Oh." A cold dread settled on Beth's chest. "What happened?"

Richard sighed. There was both sadness and frustration in the sound. "I don't know," he said, "but I have an inkling who's responsible."

Beth looked down at her hands. "I wish I could tell you more about what he's up to. The Death Eaters have had two meeting since you died, and no clues to his plans. I don't think he trusts us as a group; he just seems to assign things individually. And now if he's kidnapping the alumni-"

"He always brings them back safe," Richard said. "He can't risk a disappearance that would cause a fuss."

"I still don't like it," said Beth, frowning. "And his other actions don't all make sense. I mean - why harm Bode, of all people? Why would he want two dozen wands when he's got his own?"

"Well, Mr. Ollivander suspects he's looking for something that suits him, but won't clash with Potter's again," Richard sighed. "Who knows what he'll do with the leftovers. Build up an arsenal, I suppose."

"For his army." That brought something to mind. "I've seen Riggs."

Richard sat up in surprise. "Have you!"

"He all but admitted that he's working directly for the Dark Lord," said Beth. "He wanted to know where the Ledger was." She didn't mention that he had threatened her.

To her surprise, Richard threw back his head and let out an explosive "Ha!"

"Didn't I tell you?" he said, eyes gleaming. "It fooled them all. They can interrogate every member one by one, and they'll never get near it. His arsenal isn't worth half the Ledger."

Beth didn't like the way he made light of the situation, and after the Halloween ceremony of blood, she suspected that the Dark Lord's arsenal was stronger than Richard thought. "Where've you got it now?"

Richard sobered quickly. "I can't tell you exactly, that's a liability. No offense."

"No offense." There was no lack of trust, only the acknowledgement of dangerous outside forces.

"It's safe," Richard assured her. "And I'm being careful!" he added, laughing, before she could say it. "A seedy hotbed of crime in the middle of the worst part of magical London - what could be a better place to hide, than next door to my enemies?"

Beth wished she could share his confidence.

-'-'-

Beth stayed for dinner, which consisted of tinned soup boiled over a wood-burning stove, and they remained at the table chatting until within an hour of sundown. Beth admitted to herself that she had been worried about the conversation - after so much time apart, what could they have to talk about? Her fears were unfounded. It was as if they had never been apart. Once or twice they picked up threads of conversation that they had started months before, without noticing. Richard told her stories about his job, the alumni, and the interesting people he ran into down Knockturn Alley; Beth told him about Professor Umbridge, goings-on around school, and the Guild. That last subject almost sent Richard to pieces.

"The whole time, they've been spying on us? What do they know? Did they know we went to Azkaban? And Durmstrang? What about Dell? Oh no - do they know about Audra?"

"Easy, Rich. I don't think they know much." Beth blew over the top of her cracked teacup and sent a faint wisp of steam in his direction. "They knew who we were, but not what was going on. I think they're still afraid of us," she added.

"They ought to be," Richard said, stirring his own tea distractedly. "Still ... if Dumbledore put them onto us..."

"Apparently he thought we'd help each other," Beth told him. "But none of us really trust the others."

"That's not a surprise," Richard said. "I think Dumbledore's a bit optimistic about people getting along." It was the first time she had ever heard him criticize the Headmaster.

"He's still got us in class with the Gryffindors," Beth agreed.

Richard gave a lopsided grin. "That's not optimistic, it's just plain daft."

That led to reminiscences of fights with Gryffindors past, and stories of classes gone badly awry. Though they sat at a battered table in a filthy building full of shady men and dodgy dealings, hiding from the darkest forces imaginable, Beth couldn't think of another place she'd rather be.

-'-'-

Richard escorted her to the mouth of Knockturn Alley; from there, she turned into Diagon Alley and walked for several blocks before taking a Floo station back to Hogsmeade. Night had already fallen, but the street lamps glowed warmly and all the businesses were still bustling, so Beth was able to slip into the Honeydukes basement and take the tunnel back into Hogwarts, to come out at the statue of the one-eyed witch.

Halfway down the tunnel, she stopped.

"Bugger!"

She still had the ring from Richard's mother around her neck.

"The one time I have a chance to give it back-" she muttered to herself, letting her fingers close around it. Well, there would be other times, she supposed. After all, she didn't exactly mind carrying it around. Sometimes it was nice to feel that something of Richard's was nearby...

She broke into a grin. And sometimes, it was nice to have Richard himself.

-'-'-

Beth spent the rest of the week in a strange oscillation of emotions.

The joy of seeing Richard carried her through the days, but the things he had told her came back in the dark of night. Before, the Dark Lord had seemed inactive: a deadly spider, but still waiting at the center of his web. Now she knew that he had been busily spinning since his return, entangling more and more of the Society. How long would it be before she and her friends also fell into his trap?

As no one else in Hogwarts knew that Richard was still alive, Beth was forced to keep all this new knowledge to herself. It was all right for the moment, she decided. They were safe within the castle. She would warn the Society before they left for Christmas break, possibly even recommend that they stay at Hogwarts, but she would say nothing until then - and she would never tell where she heard the news.

So the Society and the Guild continued to occupy themselves with the smaller, less ominous doings which they knew. That Tuesday they spoke again of the High Inquisitor, and her relation to the Dark Lord.

"So you told Dumbledore that Umbridge isn't a Death Eater?" asked Melissa anxiously, practically as soon as they had popped through the floor into the small Ravenclaw library.

"Yes," said Deirdre.

"And...?"

"He was already aware of it, but he thanked us for taking the time."

"You know, that's exactly what happened all through fifth year," Melissa sighed. Her eyes widened as if she'd had a sudden startling thought. "You didn't mention us, did you?"

"Of course not," snapped Deirdre. "Thought I daresay he would suspect your involvement. You must learn to trust us, Ollivander."

"Easier said," said Melissa, "than done."