Chapter Twenty-Six: Vanishing Acts

For the second time in Beth's memory, Dumbledore had lost control of Hogwarts.

Back in fourth year, when he had been ousted by the board of governors for letting the Chamber of Secrets be opened, the Slytherins had griped and complained about McGonagall being in charge - but it hadn't been so bad, really, the school rules stayed in place and things went on as usual. It was a peaceful transition of power.

This coup changed everything, from top to bottom. Umbridge had the Inquisitorial Squad strategically patrol in between classes, and hinted that the fireplaces were now being watched by the Ministry itself. Argus Filch, who had put petition after petition to Dumbledore asking to be rid of Peeves, was heard rejoicing that his dream might finally come true - and some whispered that he had asked about reinstating the thumb chains too. The teachers were still prevented from speaking about anything other than their subjects, and the students became increasingly wary of conversing in the open.

For Beth, it meant a complete upheaval of her daily schedule. In addition to everything else, she now had to put in an hour every night reading other students' mail and checking for contraband, incendiary statements, or anti-Ministry comments, all of which were to be Obliterated on sight. Beth worked on the Ravenclaw mail whenever she could, passing through the Guild without omission (although she occasionally Obliterated an adjective or two, just to make it seem like she was doing her job). Draco invariably read the Gryffindor mail, often aloud and with much glee. Very few items of mail passed through his hands without a few scorch marks. Warrington showed up the first two nights, but his reading was so painfully slow that he was ultimately excused. Of course, all the Slytherin mail got through unopened.

"I feel like I've been doing this forever," Beth sighed to Melissa that Friday morning, pinning on her Inquisitorial Squad badge as they strolled from the dormitories to the common room. "And it's only been a week."

"It'll only be for six more weeks," Melissa consoled her. "After we've left school, who cares what happens in Hogwarts?"

Once they were out of the school, they would be visible to the Dark Lord again. "Then the fun really begins," said Beth under her breath. "That's the other thing," she added, louder. "Only six weeks until N.E.W.T.s, and I spent ten hours this week reading other people's mail. I can't spare that kind of time, Mel ... oh no. What is that?"

Melissa had stopped and was staring at the bulletin board. A parchment of familiar size and shape had been posted.

"Not again!"

But the document was not, in fact, another Educational Decree; it was something very different.

Quidditch trials will be held on the field at one o'clock p.m.
this Saturday only.
All students in second year or older interested in playing for
the house team should try out. Current team members must be
present.

All positions should be considered available.
Bruce Bletchley, substitute captain

"Substitute captain," said Melissa, half derisive and half impressed. "I suppose he appointed himself."

"Actually," came the calm voice behind her, "I went to Professor Snape and offered to take over Montague's position so that the team would stay in the running for the Quidditch Cup."

They turned around to see Bruce standing at their shoulders, hands clasped behind his back.

"Of course," said Melissa, with at least the good grace to blush. "Not that you won't do a wonderful job, I just never..."

"Let's go to breakfast," Bruce interrupted, "I'm starved."

No sooner, however, had they been seated and served themselves some eggs than Draco Malfoy stormed up. For one of the first times in living memory, he did not have Crabbe and Goyle beside him. He came up behind Bruce, who glanced back at him without concern; indeed, as if he had been expecting this.

"What's this about all positions being considered available?" said Draco hotly.

Bruce remained unperturbed. "Without Montague, the whole group dynamic's changed," he explained blandly, not looking up from his breakfast. "It's important that we have a team that can work together, not six cooperating players and a replacement Chaser."

"There is no one in this school," said Draco, seething, "who is a better Seeker than me."

Bruce glanced over. He looked the fifth-year up and down. "Then you've nothing to worry about," he said. He calmly went back to his food.

Making a very obvious effort to hold his composure, Draco spun on his heel and stalked away.

"That was rather rude," said Melissa disapprovingly.

"That was really funny," Beth grinned.

"Yeah," said Bruce, cracking a smile himself. "Thing is, he needn't even have worried about his place on the team - he's never been beat in the trials. I just want everyone there so I can make up a good alternate team."

Whatever his motivation, Bruce's notice sent a buzz of excitement through the house. Nothing excited the students of Slytherin like a competition; Beth remembered the restless thrill, the delighted anxiety which filled the common room before the competitors were chosen Triwizard Tournament. Now she felt it in the air again - on a smaller scale, but infused with the same ambition and desire that characterized everything the Slytherins did.

That first Saturday of Easter break dawned clear and cool, a dewy spring morning that promised a warm afternoon. While most of the Slytherins scurried around the common room after breakfast, debating whether it was still cool enough to require a jacket, Beth settled onto the sofa with an armful of Arithmancy.

Melissa - who had decided to wear a jacket, as well as her new scarf from Hogsmeade - stopped by on her way out the door. "Aren't you coming to the trials?"

"I told you, Mel, I can't spare the time," Beth groaned. "I've got mail duty tonight. Then Snape's got this awful batch of - I don't even know what, really difficult potions, I only got a third of the way through them last week - and if I don't do these problems for Vector which were due three weeks ago, I am never going to pass that class..."

"You do have ten days of holiday to finish it, you know," said Melissa. "Well, have it your way. Good luck with the problems."

"Thanks." Beth thought of something and raised her head. "Hey, are you going to…?"

But Melissa was already out the door.

Sighing, Beth settled back in the sofa and unrolled her Arithmancy notes, by all appearances engrossed in the prior words of Professor Vector. When the common room had completely cleared out, however, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter that she had been hiding since it arrived at breakfast: the long lavender envelope with gold lettering and a weighty, impressive wax seal.

Heart in her throat, she slit the envelope with the tip of her wand and pulled out the intricate purple letter within.

Dear Miss Parson:

Thank you for your interest in employment with the Ministry of Magic. We are thrilled to find so many young witches and wizards not only willing to take part in their government, but to devote their lives to it as well.

As you know, the Department of Mysteries is the cornerstone of governmental research and development. Not only is our work within the department vital to the Ministry and beneficial to wizardkind, it is also highly classified. In accordance with this secrecy we maintain a policy of regular, mandatory Obliviations for all employees. Please consider and recognize the implications of this policy before you continue to seek employment.

While your accomplishments and recommendations are impressive, all potential applicants are required to undergo an interview at the Ministry before employment. Please reply by owl so that we may arrange for a mutually convenient date.

Most truly yours,
Arcanus Schrowde
Head of the Department of Mysteries

Beth fell back on the sofa, beaming in relief. She hadn't known what to expect from her application … but of course, an on-site interview would be standard procedure … what on earth was she going to wear?

She sat up, frowning. Did she even want the job?

She should just throw away the letter. It was a stupid idea anyway. Who wanted to work for the Ministry these days? She would have to live in London, hours away from her father. (Accessible by Floo, she admitted to herself, but Floo powder would be expensive for a daily commute or even weekend visits home.) She knew that being an Unspeakable was a difficult job, thanks to Bode and Croaker, and she knew in the same way that it was dangerous, too ... but still, something about the danger appealed to her. She knew she was only reacting to the siren call of mystery, but that didn't change the way she was drawn to it.

She got out her quill.

After she had finalized her letter thanking Mr. Schrowde and requesting an interview date, she strolled up to the Owlery and picked out a hearty-looking barn owl for the trip to London. The sky was clear and blue; from the tower she could see tiny dark figures moving on and above the Quidditch pitch. She tied on her letter, let the owl out the window, and then stood watching for a few minutes, leaning against the sill, letting the wind rustle her hair. She tried never to think about how she would miss the school after graduation, but at times like these it crept up and tugged gently.

The specks on the field began to collect and move toward the castle; the retrials must have finished. Beth hurried downstairs to meet them. She got to the common room just a few minutes before the floodgates opened and all of Slytherin house poured inside, chatting and laughing, many of them muddied or rumpled from the tryouts. Beth waited, watching the mob, until Melissa made her way through the crowd and stood in front of her, hands on her hips, looking as windswept as the rest.

"Well?" said Beth.

"They went well," said Melissa nonchalantly. "All the old team's still on, of course, but the alternate team's very interesting. Herne got on as alternate Beater - and Morag actually didn't do such a bad job, he's an alternate Chaser. I think he's got quite a good chance at making the team next year."

"Good for him," said Beth impatiently, "but who got on as the new Chaser?"

Melissa cocked her eyebrow; a little self-satisfied smirk crossed her face. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small green patch with the word CHASER embroidered in silver.

"So much for the White Elephant Idiot Broom, eh?"

Beth shrieked and threw her arms around her.

-'-'-

It would have been an insult to Montague if they had celebrated the new team roster with a party; nonetheless, the mood in the common room that evening was a cheerful one. All fears of losing the Quidditch Cup in Montague's absence had been allayed. Besides, thanks to the efforts of the Inquisitorial Squad, Slytherin was now in the lead for the House Cup by some two hundred points. As icing on the cake, the first day of Easter break had been the most peaceful one for a week. All of the fireworks had finally burnt out, and no new ones were lit; apparently, the pranksters had decided to take a holiday.

Beth had plans for the holiday too. In her knapsack she carried the tiny porcelain pig figurine, reconfigured and redelivered by Wobbly the house elf, to drop her at Eeylop's later that week. She was desperately curious how Richard was doing. It had been far too many months since she had seen him; she had not even had a letter for over six weeks.

So much had happened, but she couldn't speak freely about any of it. She wondered whether to tell him about the banshee, the appearance of Chris at her home, Snape's double loyalties, Evan's odd project... She decided that she would wait and see. Some of it would make Richard safer, but some would only put him in even more danger.

That Thursday of the holiday week, after several painful but productive days of study, she shut herself up in the girls' powder room and waited for the Portkey to go off. Soon enough the familiar tugging sensation began, and before she knew it she stood in the back corner of Eeylops, staring up at the arching perches of sleepy owls.

She had no sooner turned around than a tall figure in cloak and hood stepped up to her.

"Hood up," said Richard, in an urgent whisper. "Quickly now."

Alarmed, Beth put up her hood and followed him through the store and out the back, into a crooked alley where the trash bins overflowed with feathers and hay. He led her through a maze of side streets; and when they finally stopped, she was amazed to find herself standing outside of Hosea's potions shop. They slipped inside. Richard greeted Hosea and led her to the back corner, where they could talk without Hosea overhearing. (Judging by the chuckle from behind the counter, Hosea must have suspected that they were withdrawing for another reason.)

At last, Richard removed the scarf from his face. His cheeks looked more hollow than they had before; he was badly-shaven, and the eye patch which sent him images of the crypt was beginning to fray.

"Richard," said Beth, unnerved, "what's going on? Are you all right?"

He gave her a grin, and looked more like himself. "I'm all right. It's just been ... interesting down here."

Beth didn't like the sound of that. "Interesting how?"

Richard frowned. "Things are different. The Ministry is filling the streets with Aurors and anyone else they can spare. All undercover, of course... The Dark Lord is doing the same. I really can't show my face anymore. Too many people watching too closely. And..." He hesitated.

"What?"

"Some of the escaped Death Eaters have been in and out of my boarding house. So have a few of the people named in Potter's article. I left last month-"

"Last month? And you didn't tell me?"

"-and I've been living in back of the shop here. Hosea's very good. He never asks questions..." Richard gazed at the floor for a moment. Then he glanced back up at her with a smile. "It's good to see you. I want to know what's going on in Hogwarts. If the rumors are true, it's as bad in there as it is out here." He paused at the sight of her silver badge. "I say, Beth, what does 'I' stand for?"

Beth let out a deep groan. "'Inquisitorial Squad'. Umbridge cooked up this - this junior police force, or something, it's like a private guard - we can take house points, we spy on the Gobstones club, we read peoples' mail ... and I, um, volunteered," she finished, trailing off.

Richard regarded her curiously. "That was a clever thing to do."

"I thought so too at the time," Beth sighed. "The woman is mad. If there wasn't already a Dark Lord, she'd be it."

Richard cocked a tired smile. "I think the position's already taken."

The bell in the shop door tinkled.

Both of them drew back into the shadows, Richard craning his neck to see who had entered. Beth caught a glimpse of a small, hooded figure before Richard grabbed her and pulled her behind a display rack of powdered herbs, almost suffocating her against his chest.

"What?" Beth hissed, her voice muffled by his shirt. "Who is it?"

"It's my mother."

Beth struggled free and peeked around the display. The figure looked from side to side before lowering its hood, to reveal the frail face of Mrs. Shaw. Blind Hosea met her at the counter with a polite smile.

"How can I help ye, then?"

The gentleness and dignity of her voice were more noticeable, here in the shadows of Knockturn Alley. "Two doses of Lethe Elixir, please."

Beth had to stifle a gasp. The most powerful forgetfulness potion in existence - it could wipe a mind as cleanly as the Dementor's Kiss. What on earth would she want with it...? She felt Richard reach out suddenly and grab her hand.

Hosea merely nodded obligingly, as if she had requested no more than a glass of water. "Will it be person or event now, that you're wanting to forget?"

"Person," said Mrs. Shaw.

"Aha." Hosea laid a gnarled finger to the side of his nose. "It'll be a man, then."

Mrs. Shaw's voice wavered slightly. "Not quite."

Hosea shrugged elaborately. "Not my business to know," he said. "On'y place a hair of the person you'll be wanting to forget in the potion an' let it set for a week. Ye'll not remember a thing."

"I've kept a lock of hair," said Mrs. Shaw.

The hand that held Beth's began to shake. She looked up at Richard quickly. His eyes were white-rimmed, his mouth slightly open...

The blind shopkeeper turned and unerringly plucked a small vial from a shelf on the back wall. He uncorked it, took a sniff and nodded satisfactorily before turning back around and placing it on the counter between himself and Richard's mother. "Let's say an even eighty Galleons, mum."

"Of course," said Mrs. Shaw quietly. She counted out eighty gold coins, placed them in a small sack and pushed it across the counter into Blind Hosea's waiting hand. At the feel of the leather the shopkeeper smiled and nodded.

"Much thanks, mum, I'll trust yer not to shortchange a poor blind bloke like meself." Beth couldn't help but notice that his fingers moved deftly over the surface of the sack nonetheless. He leaned over the counter. "Bit of advice, mum, don't mind me sayin'. Leave yersel' a note sayin' that you took the potion an' there's somethin' you want to forget. Else, you'll not know why you've lost your memory. There's a scary thing." He straightened and began to sort the money into his dilapidated register.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Shaw, putting the vial into a pocket of her robes. Her voice was faint but resolute. She turned and left the shop.

Beth stared at her. "She can't-" Without another word, she left behind a stunned and silent Richard and tore out of the shop.

The small cloaked figure made its way down the alley, dwarfed by the looming stone buildings. Beth dashed after her recklessly. "Wait!" She cast out a hand and grabbed the woman by the shoulder.

Mrs. Shaw whirled toward her, wand up defensively. Her hood flapped backward. The kind, clear eyes widened in disbelief.

"Elizabeth - what ever are you doing down here?"

"Mrs. Shaw," said Beth in a rush, "I saw you buy the Lethe elixir. Please - don't use it -"

Richard's mother stiffened. "Elizabeth, this is my own affair."

"No it's not!" Beth's cheeks flushed red. "It's his - I mean, it's unfair to his memory -"

"Memory is all that's left," said Mrs. Shaw quietly.

"That's why it's so important! How can you just pretend that he never existed? How can you - just erase him?" Beth's face was flaming now; her hands gestured ineffectively in the empty air. "Your son-"

"Elizabeth."

"Your only son-!"

"Elizabeth!"

The world was suddenly silent.

"My son is gone." Her voice shook imperceptibly. "Would you have me suffer needlessly for the rest of my life?"

Beth was still.

Mrs. Shaw reached up and pulled her hood over her head again. "Good day, Elizabeth." She turned and walked sedately out of Knockturn Alley.

Beth stood and watched as the shadows fell over Mrs. Shaw's dark cloak to finally absorb her into the dark places on the street. Quietly she turned and went back into the potion shop.

Richard hovered near the doorway, very white in the face. Beth took a deep breath. "She..."

She couldn't finish.

Richard nodded shakily. "I knew..." Suddenly he heaved a deep sob and hugged Beth tight to his chest. She felt warm tears trickle onto her hair and run down her neck. She kept quite still, letting him hold her, feeling the rise and fall of his chest until it slowed and subsided. They both knew that she was all he had left to hold.

-'-'-

Even after the first horrible shock of being disowned had worn off, Richard remained pale and shaken throughout the day. They talked of the Society and the Guild, Dumbledore and Umbridge, the Dark Lord and his followers ... but his voice was hollower, empty of enthusiasm. Beth didn't want to leave him, but, as he pointed out in a voice of unconvincing bravado, "They'll miss you at school, and I have work to do."

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked softly.

He gazed back at her with tired eyes. "What choice do I have?"

She left him standing in the doorway of Hosea's potions shop, watching her with a patch over one eye and the other, hollow and haunted in a drawn face.

From the mouth of Diagon Alley she Apparated to Hogsmeade, as usual, and began the long trek back to the castle. The thought of Richard's loss hung in her stomach like a ball of lead. As stunned and hurt as she was by his pain, thoughts of her own kept rising in her head - losing Lycaeon to a second term in Azkaban, seeing her father in the hospital bed, hearing the dreadful song of the banshee.

She had lost her family before, and drew strength from her experience. Richard had no such history.

"I can always go back, you know," he had told her, months before. "When it's over. When it's safe."

She had always known that Richard was willing to sacrifice for the Society, perhaps even to die; but standing here alone at the castle gate, she thought that he had made the biggest miscalculation of his life.

-'-'-

Beth dared not tell Melissa what she had seen in Knockturn Alley; it seemed too private to reveal. Instead she described their conversation, everything he had told her about the "interesting things" going on in the streets of London, and how he had been more furtive - even to the point of leaving his "safe" apartment. The more Beth thought about it, the more worried she became. She was sure he hadn't told her the extent of the danger he had faced. Reading between the lines, he sounded more at risk every day. It made her sick to think of what might happen; so she kept her worries to herself, and threw herself headlong into her schoolwork. It was all she could do.

With the end of Easter break, April closing out and the end of term in threatening, tantalizing reach, her workloads in every area were redoubled. Snape's Potions classes got trickier, and so did the grading of them; the Inquisitorial Squad worked double-time to catch up on weeks-overdue mail screening; N.E.W.T.s practices became harder and harder until the seventh-years were convinced that the real thing would be a relief. Inevitably, the teachers seemed to realize in unison how far behind they were in their course schedules. Even Professor Binns seemed to be droning out lectures a little faster than usual.

Ironically, the only class that still moved at a bearable pace was Care of Magical Creatures. Much like he had during fifth year, while being prosecuted for the hippogriff mauling, Hagrid had reverted to more peaceful creatures; which, while he clearly found them boring, were greatly preferable to the usual deadly fare. For the past week they had been studying the Moke, a silvery-green lizard with the ability to shrink. Beth thought they were adorable, and they all had a wonderful time frightening them to make them shrink and then watching them slowly reinflate, only to do it again when they had reached full size.

"It can't be good for them, doing that all the time," Melissa chided, as they strolled in to dinner.

"Hagrid said they don't mind," Beth said. "It's like practice for them anyway."

"I think they enjoy it," said Mervin defensively.

"How can you tell?" Melissa shot back. "It's not as if they have facial expressions."

"I ought to know by now when a reptile's looking happy!" said Mervin hotly, as they climbed the steps to the entrance hall. "When Gina was having a good time, she always-"

Before he could finish, a wave of noise hit them from inside the castle - a roaring ruckus, a handful of shrieks, shouting and the clamor of scores of footsteps from somewhere not too far above them.

"It's finally happened. We're done for," said Mervin, pale-faced, and turned to go back outside.

Melissa grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back in. "Come on, we have to find out what's going on!"

They were halfway up the stairs when Jeanne Thwaite dashed past, her face red from exertion. She skidded to a halt and nearly tripped on the stairs. "Beth - Umbridge is mobilizing the Squad," she barked up the staircase. "We've gotta catch the Weasley twins - I almost had 'em but I swear they vanished into the bloody wall-"

"Where was that?" Beth called back.

"Fourth floor. Only be careful of the - oof-" A crowd of student swept down the staircase and nearly threw Jeanne to the ground.

Beth shucked off her knapsack and handed it to Melissa. "See you back in the common room," she told the two, and darted upstairs.

She rounded the corner at the landing and went on to the third floor, taking the steps two by two. If the Weasleys had vanished on the fourth floor then maybe they knew a secret passage down to the third, or had simply ducked out of sight and dashed downstairs, or even blasted a hole in the floor and leapt through, for all Beth knew. She thought the third floor was a good place to look. Everyone was running from it, so it sounded like a good place to hide ... in fact, as she stepped onto the landing and dashed down the corridors, the hallway was entirely empty.

She skidded around a corner and ran straight into four feet of muddy water.

The splash was terrific. Beth felt her sneakers touch bottom and she stood up, neck deep, and pulled her hair away from her face so she could see what had happened.

Before her stretched an entire corridor of bona fide swampland. Lily pads drifted around where the tile on the floor used to be. One or two of the portraits on the wall pointed down at her, snickering; those nearer to the ground had abandoned their frames for fear of being splashed. Cattails framed the suits of armor like a thicket of spears.

Beth watched a lily pad drift past, bearing a happy-looking green toad. With a great, guttural ribbit, it leapt from its vehicle and landed on top of her head.

The portraits roared with laughter. Beth grabbed the toad and hurled it down the hall, where it disappeared with a merry plunk. Clutching fistfuls of robe in both hands, she slogged back up the bank to dry land, where the swamp trailed off into ordinary corridor. Tadpoles and minnows flip-flopped off of her clothing and shimmied back into the murky water. Long strands of algae dripped from her shoulders.

"Scourgify," said Beth through her teeth. A warm wind blasted up from beneath her and whisked away most of the mud on her face and clothes. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then, fists clenched, she took off down the hall in another direction. Before, she had been acting under orders. Now it was personal.

She thought she saw a tapestry shift far down the hall, and bolted toward it - but no, the wall was blank behind the woven hanging. She paused a moment to catch her breath, hands on her hips. Where would I hide if I thought a dozen people were out to kill me?

Shouts and laughter from below cut off her thoughts. Without a pause, Beth turned and sped back down the stairs. The Weasely twins weren't hiding. They were running.

Downstairs the halls were packed with bustling, chattering, excited students. Beth elbowed her way through the mob, for once grateful of her height, and caught sight of Warrington doing the same a few yards away. "Seen them?" she hollered, over the din.

"Great Hall," Warrington boomed. His powerful voice almost shook the rafters. Not wanting to miss any of the action, the onlooking horde turned as one and began to stream for the Great Hall.

Beth struggled against the mass of people until she broke into the wide, empty dining hall. The long tables were set for dinner but utterly empty (who could think of food at a time like this?) although the mob was beginning to leak into the empty spaces, heads turning excitedly, trying to catch a glimpse of the chase.

Beth saw a sneaker-clad foot disappear beneath the Hufflepuff table.

"Ha!" Beth's cry of victory came halfway to the ground as she threw herself onto her stomach and crawled under the table. Far at the other end she could make out a dark shape, moving quickly away from her. She fumbled in her still-damp robes for a wand. Where had she put it-? She raised her head slightly and crashed into the underside of the table. Gripping her head, she cracked her eyes open just enough to see the twins scuttle out from under the table and take off.

Beth slid under the bench and leapt to her feet amid the mob, now joyfully following a visible pair of red heads out the door and into the entrance hall. She vaulted between them, taking no care of who she shoved out of her way. If the twins got to the entrance hall they would have their choice of escape routes - if no one saw which way they went, the Inquisitorial Squad could dash around the school all night without finding them. Beth, for one, had had enough running for that day. She fought to the forefront of the crowd.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!"

For the second time, Warrington's voice came booming over the riot. Beth broke through the wall of people to see the twins skid to a halt in front of the Hufflepuff corridor, where Warrington loomed. They turned on their heels and sprinted across the room - only to find Vincent Crabbe and Jeanne Thwaite blocking the way to the Ravenclaw tower. Spinning nimbly toward the Gryffindor tower - Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Beth hurled across the room in time to join Gregory Goyle as a human fence in front of the staircase to the dungeons.

The twins retreated to the center of the room, back to back, shifting on their feet as if ready to make a break for it if the slightest hole showed in the ring of students, teachers, and ghosts fencing them in.

"So!"

Professor Umbridge had joined them; from the staircase she could have been an empress calling out death sentences from her balcony. "So ... you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," admitted one.

Beth gritted her teeth and hoped Filch had gotten his thumb-chain decree passed.

Indeed, Filch was fighting towards Umbridge with a paper in his hand. "I've got the form, Headmistress," he almost cried. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting... Oh, let me do it now..."

"Very good, Argus." She turned a majestic and merciless face toward the twins, alone in the center of the hall. "You two are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."

It was a lesson too long foregone. The Weasley twins were in the hottest water they had ever been in - defenseless, red-handed and completely surrounded.

Then why were they smiling?

"You know what?" said one of them. "I don't think we are."

Professor Umbridge's grin slipped a little.

He turned to his brother, almost theatrically. "George, I think we've outgrown full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself."

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?"

"Definitely."

With the careless synchronization of a vaudeville act, they raised their wands together and shouted, "Accio Brooms!"

There was a terrible groaning sound and a loud snap, far off down the hallway - then a pair of broomsticks came rocketing through the halls, one dragging a chain behind it, and came to a screeching halt before the twins, swift and obedient as greyhounds.

"We won't be seeing you," said one cockily, leaping onto his broomstick.

His brother followed suit. "Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch."

Both astride, they turned to address the onlookers directly, for the first time.

"If anyone fancies a Portable Swamp," said one loudly, gesturing toward the staircase, "as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley - Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Our new premises!"

The other leveled a finger at Umbridge, who stood motionless in shock. "Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat."

Professor Umbridge recovered her voice. "STOP THEM!" Fists clenched, Beth and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad started forward with every intention of doing so - but they had gotten no more than a few feet closer when both twins shot into the air, bobbing near the ceiling. Beth ducked as the end of the iron chain came careening toward her head. They made a slow turn in the air and faced Peeves the Poltergeist, hovering gleefully over the crowd.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

Peeves snapped to attention with a salute. The hall burst into applause. Before the eyes of the entire school, Fred and George Weasley turned and zoomed out of the Great Hall into the dying rays of the sun.

Beth Parson, clothes streaked with mud, swamp water dripping from the hem of her robes and pooling around her shoes, stood in the entrance hall and watched them disappear until they were barely specks of black against the sunset. Through the commotion that exploded around her, all she could think about was how much easier life would have been, had the Weasley twins done this very thing seven years earlier.

-'-'-

After a term full of bizarre schoolwide events, Beth would have thought that the Weasleys' exit was just one more episode; but it was all that anyone spoke about for days afterward. Like most tales around Hogwarts, it was stretched in the telling until even people on the scene were certain they had glimpsed Dumbledore in the crowd, laughing as the twins zoomed away.

Lee Jordan obtained a ridiculous level of celebrity, in his capacity as the best friend left behind - "the last Weasley twin," Beth heard one of the teachers calling him fondly. To hear him tell it, he had been integral to the escape plan and had done most of the swamp himself. Beth had been in class with him for seven years and knew better, but she was willing to believe him when he took credit for importing the toads. What everyone wanted to know (after reminiscing with him about the fabulous event) was when Jordan was going to pull the same thing.

"Wish I could," said Jordan, dreadlocks bobbing with Rastafarian calm. "Got a thing lined up with the W.W.N. Five years announcing Quidditch looked all right on my résumé, but I've got to get the Charms N.E.W.T. at least. Station policy."

Beth and her classmates resolved to start looking for a new radio station.

Less than a week after that, Beth noticed yet another strange doing: a grown man and woman, stalking through the corridors of Hogwarts in the direction of Dumbledore's office. She mentioned them at dinner that night.

"It's the Montagues," said Melissa. "You remember, don't you? They were at my dinner party two years ago."

Beth had greeted dozens of wizard couples at the dinner party, and she couldn't remember a single one of them.

"Sure."

Melissa sized her up, then shook her head. "Well, whatever. They were there. I suppose they've come to see how Montague is doing, because they went straight off to the infirmary. They looked quite upset."

"No surprise there," said Bruce. "He's been like that for three weeks. If I were them I'd be furious."

"And scared," Melissa added, in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Bruce's face softened. "That too." He poked at his food. Then he gathered his things. "I should go talk to them."

"What?" Melissa raised her head, brows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Why?"

"I dunno," said Bruce, shrugging. He stood up from the table. "Just to, I don't know, offer condolences from the team, or something. It just seems like I ought to."

He hitched his backpack onto his shoulder and strode out of the Great Hall.

Melissa watched him go. "Just when I think I understand him..." she sighed.

"He's been acting weird since Sally started here," Beth noted.

Melissa raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Implying that he was never weird before that?"

"Point taken." Beth grinned. "How did we get mixed up with all these crazy people?"

"Birds of a feather..." Melissa winked.

By the time they left the Great Hall it was nearly empty. They strolled down to the common room cheerfully, chatting over the remarkable people they had known and the incredible things they had done. Really, Beth thought, despite it all, it had been a great seven years.

"And the next seven are going to be just as good," said Melissa resolutely, climbing through the door of the common room. "We're going to solve all this business with You-Know-Who and get on with our lives. I for one intend..." She broke off with an impatient huff. "What on earth is going on over there?"

A cluster of first- and second-years was crowded around the fireplace, shoving for a good view of something hidden by their backs. Melissa started towards them, calling out, "Go along, go study or something - it's just the fireplace, for heaven's -"

She broke off abruptly as she reached the crowd. "Everyone leave," she said suddenly, harshly. The students scattered. Melissa turned around, her face set. "Warrington," she barked. "Come here."

He started towards her; and Beth saw the crumpled figure lying behind her feet.

It was Evan Wilkes.

-'-'-

Madam Pomfrey's face drained pale at the sight of him.

"What has happened to this boy?" she whispered, as Warrington laid him out clumsily on an empty cot. Evan's arm flopped over the edge heedlessly. His whole body was limp, lifeless ... but it was the look of his skin that made Beth gasp in horror.

He was pale as a corpse, his skin gray and nearly translucent. His hands and face were covered with huge splotches of black that roamed up and around his body: living birthmarks, slithering restlessly just under his skin. Beth shuddered at the sight of them, feeling her own skin crawl.

Melissa held out a large glass beaker, half-full of something that looked like tar. "It was by the chair," she told Madam Pomfrey, who took it carefully from her. "So was this."

She handed over a thick scroll of parchment.

Madam Pomfrey unrolled it quickly and read the top of it, wide-eyed. "Alchemy III, Final Project," she read, in a tone of disbelief. She put aside the scroll and bent over to peer into Evan's eyes, peeling each eyelid back and gazing into his deadened pupils. "Oh Wilkes, what've you done to yourself?"

"Shall I fetch Professor Snape?" said Melissa. She looked terrified, but Beth could read in her eyes an indubitable excitement at being part of the action.

"That will not be necessary."

The cold voice swept into the room. Warrington stood back as the Potions Master stalked into the infirmary.

"The first-years informed me," he said without preface, striding to the side of Evan's bed. Unhesitatingly, he lifted Evan's left arm and pulled back his sleeve to the elbow.

"Wait -" Beth said involuntarily. If he saw the Dark Mark...

"Yes?" said Professor Snape, not turning toward her.

Beth stared at the creamy white of Evan's inner forearm. The Dark Mark was gone - but in its place were half a dozen of the slithering black patches, wandering up and down his arms.

"Never mind," Beth stammered.

Snape checked Evan's other arm and then reached over for the scroll. He scanned it with narrowed eyes; Beth thought she heard him mutter, "Proteus..." Finally he let it roll back up with a snap.

"Madam Pomfrey, I will personally analyze this potion of Wilkes's and develop an antidote." Snape whisked up the half-filled beaker and Banished the scroll back to his office. "I would be much obliged if you would keep him alive until then." He turned back to the doorway. "Ollivander, please alert the headmaster. You two - back to your dormitories. Parson -"

Beth, who had been on her way out, stopped and turned back around.

"Take this to the dungeons and begin an analysis to compare the contents to the recipe. We must rule out the possibility that this potion has been misbrewed. I will continue to examine the results and will join you shortly." Misreading her hesitation, he snapped, "You may forego your ordinary workload for the moment."

"Right," said Beth quickly, taking the flask of gooey black potion. She turned and hurried down to the dungeons.

-'-'-

Dungeon Six still bore the remnants of the previous day's work (fourth-year Wit-Sharpening Potion, which regrettably could only be used after it was brewed). Beth swept it aside carelessly.

She brought out a rack of test tubes and started measuring out dollops of potion. One sample to test for brewing time, one to test for water content, one for moon exposure, one for stirring method, one for each ingredient...

She paused. She'd need the ingredients list. Snape still had that. Hastily she started the first few analyses and corked them off, stuck one vial in the centrifuge and set it spinning with her wand, and put another one under the moon ray. That begun, she wiped her hands and went into the hall.

Snape's office door was open - a rarity. "Professor Snape?" No response. She poked her head inside.

The office was empty. Beth edged inside, expecting Snape to leap out at any moment and yell at her for intruding. Or ... she remembered suddenly that he was a Death Eater too. Or something much worse.

There! Evan's recipe lay on the edge of the desk. She darted inside, snatched up the scroll, and dashed back to the laboratory.

Snape would expect her to take it, she argued to herself. How could she do her job without knowing the ingredients? She went to her work bench and rolled out the scroll. The title stopped her dead.

FOR THE REMOVAL OF THE DARK MARK
Alchemy III Final Project by Evan Wilkes

Beth stared at the parchment. So this was it - the undertaking that Professor Snape had called "very foolish, and very likely impossible." No wonder Evan had kept it under wraps all year, even while hinting to Beth that she wouldn't want to stop him from working on it. But for all his secrecy, and all the times she had caught him working on it, Evan had failed ... with terrible results.

But if he had succeeded...

Grimly, Beth propped open the scroll and started preparing the tests. He had taken the risk for both of them. The least she could do was try to cure him of his own failure.