Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Serpent and the Badger

Now two Slytherins were out of commission in the hospital wing. The Inquisitorial Squad had been in and out since its inception, from a range of jinxes which had been cast with varying degrees of success. Beth herself, perhaps the luckiest of the lot, only suffered two or three badly-done Leg-Locker Curses and a case of the boils (worth twenty points and detention to the perpetrator). They all made sure to put on their Hex Screen every day.

In general the Inquisitorial Squad was left to their own devices - good news to Beth, although it bode ill for the rest of the school. Early in May, however, the dictatress called her Squad into her office for a specific assignation of duty.

"The upcoming Quidditch match shall leave us shorthanded," she said, seated placidly behind her desk with rows of kitten plates as a backdrop. "I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Warrington, Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle," she added, nodding to each in turn. Her expression darkened. "The student body will be aware of this weakness. They may try to exploit it. I want every one of you to attend the game and spread out among the stands in order to quell any ... unfortunate happenings. I will issue special notes of permission for you to be seated outside of your house."

She fixed them with a look that might have come from Mad-Eye Moody.

"We must all be cautious. There are those who wish to unseat us. I have utter faith in you and your ability..."

She plucked a dried flower from one of the vases on her desk; then, with a harsh clenching of the fist, crushed it to dust.

"...to quench it."

Consequently Beth found herself less excited than usual about the upcoming game against Hufflepuff. Mervin offered to come sit with her, but Beth declined; she didn't know whether Umbridge's "special notes of permission" extended to guests, and was afraid to do anything that would attract the Headmistress's attention. She might have made an exception for Melissa, but of course her best friend was going to be occupying a very different place on the Quidditch pitch.

"I can't believe it," said Melissa, on the morning of the game, staring down at her plate without eating a bite. "I never thought I'd really get a chance to play. Especially not with Montague-" She broke off as if unwilling to criticize the unlucky boy, and raised her eyes to Beth, a little pale-faced. "I'm going to be wretched."

"Don't be crazy," said Beth, grinning, "you'll be fabulous. Anyone who can work a dinner party like you should have no problem with a few Bludgers and a screaming audience."

"You're right," sighed Melissa, still not moving to eat anything. "And I did get all those O.W.L.s. Really this ought to be a piece of cake." She pounded her open hand onto the table suddenly. "Then why am I so nervous?"

"Don't ask me," said Beth, taking a sip of her tea. "It's just Hufflepuff."

Melissa was surprised into laughter. "Of course!" she cried, putting a palm to her forehead. "What was I worried about?"

"Game time, Mel," came Bruce's voice behind them. He cast Melissa a wink as she got to her feet. "I've closed off part of the locker room for you. We never had to worry about co-ed changing rooms before."

"Go get 'em," said Beth, patting her shoulder. Visibly calmer, Melissa joined the rest of the team heading out toward the pitch; and despite that she had the shortest build and longest hair of all of them, she really looked like she belonged.

Rather than finishing breakfast alone, Beth moved down the table to eat with Jeanne, the statuesque brunette. The two of them had been taking the same mail-reading shift, and Beth was delighted to find that they got along very well. She had not been expecting to make a new friend this close to the end of her Hogwarts career.

"Where's Umbridge assigned you?" she asked, munching her waffle.

"Gryffindor," said Jeanne, her shoulders drooping in disappointment. "At least I won't be alone, she's got half the Squad watching the blighters. You?"

"Ravenclaw."

"Lucky," Jeanne grumbled. "They won't bother you."

That was what Beth was counting on. "I know a couple of them from class," she said. "It might actually be fun."

Jeanne shrugged. "I guess. It is Quidditch."

They joined the crowd heading to the pitch, breaking apart as the four houses divided into their segregated seating. Just before Beth mounted the stands, she heard a cheery masculine voice above the crowd:

"Oy! Beth!"

Beth turned around. At the outskirts of the pitch stood Dave Gudgeon, wearing an old Slytherin scarf and waving one arm energetically.

Delighted, Beth let the rest of the crowd pass and made her way over to him. "Dave! Come for the game?"

"Not the game," Dave beamed. "Gosh, it's good to see you."

His joy at seeing her was so enthusiastic that it bordered on relief. It was a strange thing to hear from cool, jaunty Dave Gudgeon. Beth stood back and looked him over. His left eye, scarred from a centaur's hoof, was hidden behind an eye patch. Besides the worn canvas knapsack looped over the shoulder of his traveling cloak, there was a canteen at his side.

She started to wonder...

"What light through yonder window breaks?" Dave wondered, watching her closely, with a smug kind of grin. "It is the east..."

Beth had heard that line before. "Romeo and Juliet," she said, blushing slightly. "Although why you're quoting it now, I don't-"

She stopped dead and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Dave beamed at her.

"You jerk," she said forcefully, shoving him in the chest. "You really had me going there."

"Ow." The man rubbed his chest. "Good. It's not supposed to be obvious."

Beth put her hands on her hips. "Did you actually make the Polyjuice Potion yourself?"

Dave - or, to be accurate, Richard - shook his head ruefully. "Hosea keeps stocked with a Polyjuice starter. I couldn't brew a pot of chicken soup."

They started moving towards the stands. "Employee discount, I suppose," Beth guessed.

Richard gave a short laugh. "Hosea? You've got to be kidding. I'm just lucky he didn't raise the price for the honor of meeting the brewer."

She led him up to the very top of the Ravenclaw bleachers, where they found part of a row unoccupied; they would be far enough from the crowd to be able to talk. Richard took a swig from his canteen as they settled in. He made a face.

"I forgot how bad this stuff was."

"Good thing you remembered how well it works," Beth pointed out. Watching him, seeing Richard's tics and habits replicated in Dave's body, she recalled the last time she had seen him: haggard and stunned in Hosea's potions shop. "How are you doing?"

The scarred face clouded. "You mean, have I gotten over my mother erasing my life?"

Beth bit her lip. "Guess you wouldn't."

"No." Richard watched the players circling far above the Quidditch pitch. "But I know why she did it. Why they did it. I guess ... I was always kind of a disappointment, anyway, and after I – well once I was gone, what's the point?"

Beth stared at him, but he didn't turn to look at her. "She said she didn't want to feel the pain of losing you forever. I saw her at the funeral, she looked so ... hurt..."

"Stop," said Richard. His voice was calm but very hard.

Beth closed her mouth, frowning involuntarily, and looked down at the bleachers between her feet. She didn't know what to say to Richard, she felt hopelessly tongue-tied, but still she felt that something should be said about his parents' reaction to his "death." She wanted to tell him how sick the thought of it made her feel. She wanted to describe his mother's face when she told her that her boy was gone. But nothing came; all she could offer was her silence, and her presence.

"Talk about something," Richard ordered, voice oddly dull. "Tell me about classes, tell me about N.E.W.T.s. Has Audra told you anything lately? How's Evan's project coming along?"

Beth looked up. "How did you know about Evan's project?" she asked slowly.

Dave's face sank into Richard's expression of worry. "What happened?"

Shuddering at the thought, Beth described the intent and horrible results of Evan's Alchemy project. As she talked, Richard's face grew pale under Dave's tan; his shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

"I knew it was a long shot," he murmured, "but I should have never..."

"Wait," said Beth, her voice rising in disbelief, "you should have never what?"

"Let him do it," Richard finished, with a frown. "Evan told me what he was planning before the school year began. He needed an ingredient that he knew I could get. I think he also wanted someone else to know what he was doing ... in case something like this happened." He raised his hands and let them fall back in defeat.

"It was you that gave him that diamond," Beth said, as things fell into place in her mind.

"My family has a jewel business, remember? I just nicked it from the safe and dropped some gold in the till." He frowned again, his mouth twitching angrily as if chewing something unpleasant. "I thought he had a chance."

"You should have told me. All year I was worried that he was up to some kind of Dark magic..."

Richard shrugged. "I didn't want to get your hopes up without a reason. And honestly-" He looked a little bashful. "I was afraid you would want to help him. If the Dark Lord found out before you finished…. Evan can risk his own life," he finished bluntly, "but I wouldn't let him risk yours."

"I can't believe you would invest that much in Evan's potion," Beth said, still amazed.

"Beth, I would give a thousand diamonds to get that thing off your arm." His voice was fierce suddenly, ferocious. "I would have given my own blood if he'd asked."

It would have been very sweet, if it hadn't been so frightening.

"You know what I'm worried about?" said Beth. She stared out at the Quidditch pitch without really seeing the players. "All this that the Dark Lord's doing - so far, so little of it has to do with us. With the Society. Even if we do manage to get out from under him, I guess I'm afraid that it won't hurt him at all."

"Oh," said Richard, smiling so that the scar on Dave's eye scrunched up. "I don't care about that."

Beth paused and looked back over at him. "Then why are we going through all this?"

"The same reason Evan was willing to risk an untried potion," said Richard.

Beth met his eyes. "Freedom."

Richard nodded. Then, without warning, he turned his head and his eye grew unfocused, even while his expression tightened.

"Are you all right?" said Beth, alarmed.

"Hush." Richard's voice was vague. "Someone's in the crypt."

The simple, profound statement sent a chill through her veins. "Who is it?"

"Can't tell." Richard squinted as if watching a far-off television screen. "Medium height. Thin. Dark cloak - hood's up, I can't see the face - they're going for the younger side of the wall."

Beth wished she could share the eye patch. She looked down at the bleachers instead.

"They're trying different people ... oh, I say. They're trying to see me."

"You?" Beth's head jerked up.

"I wouldn't be worried," said Richard, still only half paying attention. "People do it all the time. All you get is an old picture of my face. Ha!" he said suddenly, turning to Beth with a grin. "They tried to see into Hogwarts."

Beth winced at the memory. "Bet that hurt him."

"It did," Richard agreed. "He's holding his head ... hold up. It's Riggs."

A scowl darkened Beth's face. "What's he trying to do?"

"He's leaving." Richard waited for a moment, then sat back in the bleachers. "He's gone."

The Quidditch game was by now in full swing. Beth stared out at the players, zooming back and forth. She knew that Riggs was clever, she knew that he had been watching the Hogwarts students closely from Hogsmeade, she knew he was working for the Dark Lord, and she was certain he intended serious harm. Beside her, Richard leaned back against the bleachers in frustration.

"I just wish we would make some headway on the rings," he said through his teeth. "All year we've been trying and trying to come up with a way to get the rings off, render them useless for spying, diminish their strength, something." He ran his hands through his hair, a trademark Rich move that looked strange for Dave. "Riddle made them too powerful for that. And all the rest of us kept it up too well."

That, of course, was the problem. The rings controlled their lives; the ability to view members, which Beth had once considered kind of cool, was the most dangerous and intrusive element of the whole mess. They would never be free until they had their privacy.

But there were two elements in that invasion of privacy...

"Rich," said Beth suddenly, "what about the crypt?"

Richard raised his head. "We thought of that," he said gloomily. "I spoke with one of the fellows who made it. That thing's hexed into next Tuesday. You couldn't cast a spell on it from point-blank range."

They both sank back into glum thought.

"But," said Richard.

His eye had lit up. Beth glanced over at the note in his voice; he stared off into the distance again, but this time there was an excited grin tugging at his face. "The crypt was bought and paid for and built just like a Muggle would have done. It's been enchanted every which way. But the blocks - the blocks -"

"It's just sandstone," said Beth, realizing what he meant. The solution was so clear, so utterly simple that Beth was amazed no one had thought of it. The sepulcher was a structure of ordinary and natural origins. It could only be destroyed in an ordinary, natural way.

They looked in each others' eyes and saw the same solution.

"We need to blow it up."

Now the expression on Dave's face was so clearly Richard's that he might not have been wearing Polyjuice at all. That excited pride in a good idea, that enthusiasm, shone boldly on the scarred face.

"I'll get some - what is it the Muggles use? Dynamints?"

"Dynamite," Beth corrected, hiding a smile.

"And we'll rig up the whole thing - we'll blow it sky-high. We'll have to have a diversion, be sure the Dark Lord won't stop by while we're setting things up - I can call enough of us for guards and I'll have to read up on how to do it, I wonder if the Library of Gramarye has anything, I'm sure we can afford it - I've got a fair pot and I know some alumni will kick in-"

Beth stopped him. "You can't just go to a Muggle shop and pick up some bombs, Rich. There are background checks and things - and I don't even know where to get them, or even steal them from. It's not exactly something every chemist keeps on the shelf."

"But a wizarding shop wouldn't carry them," said Richard, frowning. "Where do you get a bomb?"

"You don't, that's what I'm trying to..." Beth trailed off. A strange but plausible idea had just crept into her head. What were bombs, after all, but really big firecrackers?

Richard regarded her warily. "I think you just had an idea."

"I think so too." Beth's mind churned. "Remember what I told you happened the day after Dumbledore left?"

Richard's brow creased. "Sure, the Weasley twins set off a whole crate of-" He broke off, jaw dropping. "Where did they get them?" he asked slowly.

"They made them themselves," said Beth, leaning forward with her eyes alight. "And they just opened shop in Diagon Alley. I think they're mad enough to do it for us..."

"But noble enough not to turn us in," said Richard, thinking hard. "They're in Diagon Alley? That's just a few blocks away from Hosea's shop. I'll stop and order-"

"They'll recognize you."

"I'll wear the Polyjuice potion."

"I don't know if they'll sell to someone they don't know," said Beth, chewing thoughtfully on her nails. "They're not that evil. I'll tell you what," she decided. "I've got a job interview at the Department of Mysteries in a few weeks. I'll just stop by after that."

Richard froze suddenly. "You want a job in there?" he said sharply. "Don't you know what happened to Bode?"

"I thought it would be useful," Beth said defensively.

"Joining Umbridge is one thing," said Richard, shaking his head. "But..." He paused and started again. "I thought Bode was targeted because he stood up to Nott at that first meeting, way back in July. Now some of the members are thinking that he was killed because he was an Unspeakable. Beth, you're throwing yourself into danger."

Beth glanced Richard over, with his eye patch and Polyjuice disguise and intentions to study explosives, and raised her eyebrow meaningfully.

"That's different!" said Richard forcibly. "I don't want you risking your life-"

"We're all in this, Rich," she snapped. "You're not the only one who gets to do something stupid for the cause."

Richard opened his mouth and then closed it again; it had been a good comeback in more than one way. Instead he leaned back and took a swig of Polyjuice Potion, grimacing as it went down. "I don't want anything to happen to you," he said, gazing out over the pitch.

"Rich, don't worry," she insisted, putting a hand on his knee. "I'm not going to sign my soul away until I see what it's all about. I don't have to decide until weeks after the interview. They might not even want me."

Richard sighed. "Here's hoping." He put his hand on hers. "Just don't do anything without warning me, all right?"

Beth sat back in the bleachers and leaned her head against his shoulder. From that position, where she could see him only peripherally, it was easier to pretend that he wore his own face and not Dave Gudgeon's.

"I won't."

By then the game was in full swing; Slytherin was up fifty to ten, Hufflepuff having slipped one goal past Bruce with some fancy passing. The point spread was not for lack of trying by the Hufflepuff Chasers; time and again they took possession of the Quaffle, only to have it struck from their hands by a Bludger from Crabbe or Goyle. The pair of Beaters were at the top of their game. They weren't smart and they weren't fast, but the two of them could be intensely focused.

Beth wished she had been paying closer attention: she didn't know whether any of those goals had been Melissa's.

Madam Hooch's whistle cut across the field: Vincent Crabbe had attempted to beat the Quaffle directly from the Hufflepuff Chaser's hands with his bat. The stands erupted in protest; Crabbe declared his own innocence while Jordan shouted over the microphone: "An especially dirty bit of playing from the Slytherin Beater, not unanticipated of course-"

"Jordan, for the last time-"

"I doubt that, Professor, we've got one more game to go! Summerby takes the penalty shot and - oh, Bletchley just manages to knock it aside. Quaffle goes back into play and-"

He broke off. Bruce, instead of taking his position again, had gestured to Madam Hooch for a private word. Looking annoyed, the referee flew over to him; the two hovered in midair for a minute, speaking with their heads close together. Finally Bruce raised his head and called for Crabbe to come over. There was a moment of heated discussion, audible even in the stands; then, sullenly, Crabbe sank to the sidelines and hurled his bat aside.

"I say," said Richard, interested, "what's Bruce trying to pull?"

The situation looked pretty obvious to Beth. "He's rotating him out."

"But you're not allowed to send in alternates," said Richard. "That's why Ireland lost the Cup last year; if they'd been allowed to replace Lynch..."

Bruce seemed to be aware of the rule. As soon as Crabbe was settled on the sidelines, he flew back into his spot before the goals. Madam Hooch gave him a brisk nod and whistled the game back into action.

"Unbelievable-" shouted Lee Jordan from the press box. "It looks as if - yes, Crabbe has been benched - not a smart move from the Slytherin captain, they're going to have to play short-handed!"

Short-handed or not, Slytherin continued to dominate: they scored twice more, although Hufflepuff got in another goal because Goyle, on his own for possibly the first time in his life, couldn't keep possession of the Bludgers alone. After about ten more minutes of game play - including a Snitch-sighting by Draco and another foul shot when a Hufflepuff Beater was accused of cobbing - Bruce called for a time-out. Calling all the players in to him, he circled them around for just a minute or two before sending them back out, Crabbe once more on the field among them.

Eighty points ... ninety ... one hundred points for Slytherin, and at least one of them was Melissa's. The girl darted around the field, her brown hair streaming behind her. She was perhaps not the most elegant player on the field, nor the most confident, and she trailed both Aaron and Warrington by two or three goals; but her sheer determination, and her joy at being on the field, was on full display.

There was a shout from the Slytherin part of the stands; Draco had caught sight of the Snitch and was speeding down the pitch, laid almost flat on his broomstick. The wind at that speed tossed his hair back; he shot like an arrow through the air, fixated on his target...

...and out from nowhere came Summerby, the Hufflepuff Seeker, to snatch the golden ball from beneath Draco's nose.

Draco was yards away before he could slow down enough to make a turn. The crowds were howling, Madam Hooch was blowing her whistle, the Hufflepuff players mobbed their Seeker ecstatically, and Lee Jordan was shouting out the results: one hundred and seventy points to one hundred points, and Hufflepuff had won the game.

The Slytherin onlookers made their opinions on the situation known. Slytherin hadn't lost a game to Hufflepuff for over a decade. Beth looked to Bruce, sinking to the ground near the goal posts, expecting the worst. But for all the clamor going on around him, Miles Bruce Bletchley remained firmly under control.

First he went to the Hufflepuff captain and shook his hand. Then he waved his team over until they clustered around him. Whatever he had to tell them, it only took a minute or two to say; then they turned and headed back to the locker room, looking more like a unified team than they ever had in defeat - or, for that matter, in victory.

Slowly the stands emptied as students made their way back to the castle, still verbally revisiting the highlights of the game. Beth and Richard stood up to leave, reluctant to part ways again.

"Thank you for coming," said Beth, looking up into Dave Gudgeon's face.

"The pleasure was entirely mine," said Richard grandly. "Besides, it was my idea. Come on, give us a kiss to remember you by."

"Sure you won't get jealous?" she teased. "Dave's a pretty good-looking guy."

Richard looked horrified. "He's twice your age!"

She shrugged, smiling mischievously. "Sure doesn't look it -"

"Close your eyes," Richard broke in gently, stroking her eyelids closed with a finger that was not his. "You won't even tell the difference."

He turned out to be right.

-'-'-

Melissa came back to the common room an hour or so after the game, freshly showered. "Nice job," Beth greeted her. "I wish Montage could've seen it."

"Forget Montague," said Melissa, her eyes alight, "I wish Galen could have seen it." Melissa hadn't mentioned her ex-boyfriend all year.

She dropped onto the sofa beside Beth. "So what was with benching Crabbe?" asked Beth curiously. "I've never seen anybody do that."

"Well, that was Bruce's policy," sighed Melissa. "He told us ahead of time he was going to bench anyone who intentionally fouled out. We didn't think he'd really do it..."

"He's always hated the way we play to foul," Beth said thoughtfully. "I guess now he's finally had a chance to do something about it. Sorry about the loss," she added. "What did Bruce have to say about it?"

Melissa looked up, and her eyes were suddenly bright. "He said - 'I'm prouder of this loss than I ever was of a victory.'"

At those words, Bruce himself entered the common room. He had changed out of his uniform into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt; for possibly the first time after a game, he looked completely calm. He strolled over to the girls and perched on the arm of the sofa.

"Thanks for playing, Mel," he said. "You flew really well."

Melissa turned red. "Thanks." She cleared her throat with the air of someone changing the conversation. "You - you were serious about the fouling."

"That's why I said it," said Bruce gravely.

Melissa punched him lightly in the knee. "You'd better be careful," she said, mocking his tone. "Keep playing fair like that and someone's going to mistaken you for a Gryffindor."

A strange look came over Bruce's face. He let his gaze drop to his hands. "You know," he said, "I always wanted to be Gryffindor."

Beth and Melissa both froze. They had never heard anything of the sort from him.

"Mum was one, you know," he went on, not looking at them, "and Dad too, before he died. I wanted so much to be able to..." he broke off. "Then the Sorting Hat told me I wanted it a little too much. 'SLYTHERIN!' I wanted to die."

All three of them were silent.

"Well," said Melissa in a small voice, "I - I think your father would be really proud of what you've become."

His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. "I sure hope so." Bruce got up and patted Melissa on the shoulder again. "Good game." He went off to the boys' dormitory alone.

Neither of the girls ever spoke a word about what he had said; but they both felt like they understood him a little better.

-'-'-

Now that Slytherin had played its last game of the season, the team was disbanded - and none too soon, because all seven players were due to take either the O.W.L.s or the N.E.W.T.s in just a few weeks.

"It is a relief to be free of practices," said Melissa, as if she had been shackled to the training schedule for a year instead of a few weeks. "Although I'm quite looking forward to the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor game. It will make an excellent study break."

"And it'll be the funniest game ever," Mervin interjected.

They strolled down the hallway from the sixth floor. "I'm going to miss the game," Beth noted. "I have an interview with the Ministry that day."

"Do you?" said Melissa, her curiosity piqued. "With whom?"

Beth kept her voice intentionally casual. "The Department of Mysteries."

Melissa's reaction was much the same as Richard's had been.

"What? Don't you think it's a little dangerous? And Umbridge still has Ministry connections, she'll want you to go on being her little minion... Will you knock that off?" she said sharply to Mervin, who was humming "Weasley is Our King" absently as he walked.

"It's just an interview," Beth said patiently. "I'll get a chance to see what the job is all about. I don't have to agree to take it."

"You'd better hope not."

They reached the fourth-floor corridor. At the edge of the Weasley's swamp - still in place, and blooming new flora every day - rested a flat wooden raft, upon which stood Argus Filch like a disgruntled gondolier.

They got onto the raft. Filch, muttering continuously, pushed off and began punting them down the hall while the conversation went on.

"I'm going to the Ministry the month after for an interview," Mervin spoke up. "With the Obliviators. They say you get offered the job instantly if none of them remember you were there."

They got off the raft at the other end of the hall and descended the staircase. At the Great Hall, Beth turned to continue on down to the dungeons.

Melissa glanced at her. "What, aren't you coming?"

"I'm a week behind on grading potions for Snape," Beth sighed. "If don't get this done before the final he says he'll test their antidotes on me. I've seen their antidotes. I don't want to die. I'll be back in the common room by curfew."

"You don't have curfew anymore, remember?" said Mervin, with more than a hint of jealousy.

"Then I'll be back by tomorrow morning," Beth groaned.

She headed to the dungeons, where dozens of half-filled flasks awaited her attentions. Instead of taking up the daily classwork, however, she fired up a cauldron and pulled out a few samples of Evan's Alchemy potion.

Her analysis had turned up some interesting results. As Beth suspected, his potion turned up positive for a large percentage of human blood - his own, Beth guessed, drawn from the Dark Mark itself. A paper chromatograph showed that it had been exposed to the full moon three different times. He really had been working on it all year. The diamond sand had been fully absorbed by the rest of the tarlike potion, but she was able to estimate the percentage volume by exposing it to the light.

She set up the brewing-temperature test easily, having done it so often over the past year, and let a sample simmer half-submerged. She thought Professor Snape would forgive her a few minutes away from the other students' work in order to pursue Evan's cure.

Professor Snape. Beth sighed. She was becoming increasingly confused about Professor Snape's position. He had allowed Evan to continue with his potion, he had held that strange conversation with Potter the night Trelawney was sacked, and he hadn't spoken a word about the Dark Lord despite attending the same meetings. Everything she knew about him was at odds with everything else. It was very difficult, Beth thought, to trust someone whose actions never made sense anymore.

In any case, this strange inconsistency wasn't hurting their professional relationship a bit. Both of them knew what Evan had been up to, and both of them knew the other one was marked, but neither had made the slightest indication that they did. It was a satisfactory arrangement so far, and it was certainly the safest; but Beth wondered just how long it could last.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Author's Notes: The end is near...and about darn time, too. :) Expect the last few chapters to go up in quick succession. Thanks for sticking it out.
There have been several questions/comments since my last author's note that beg a reply.
netrat Who says Dumbledore doesn't know? Either way, I think Evan was banking on Snape being Mr. Super-Secretive, Sr. Lyta: (These are way back in like, chapter 22) 1. Hogwarts is such an Order stronghold that Voldemort considers the student SSA kind of a lost cause. He also has reason to believe that they're not as loyal as they ought to be. In short, they won't be much use, and he has bigger plans. 2) The rings went cold at Richard's death, but it was around four in the morning and nobody noticed. 3) Riggs is acting on his own regarding Beth, in whom Voldemort has little if any current interest. Riggs is biding his time until he has something major to show for his extracurricular spying.
There's been a clutch of new readers, to my surprise: Jdcrmn, libby, MusicisLife28 and a guy named Diesel-Power who doesn't think I give Harry enough credit. A valid point, DP, but he's been given plenty of credit in fanfiction and I thought I'd take an opposite view. Besides, most of the really impressive things about him--the personal struggles, the natural virtues--are internal and the Slytherins would never see them. I'm sorry, but there will be no SSA6.
berzer gets the prize for leaving the 100th review: Yay berzer! Springrain wondered about Beth's work schedule. It's largely up to her discretion as long as it all gets done.
And Moria : I wouldn't call you sick necessarily for thinking that Evan and Herne are cute together, but it is very odd to me that someone would ship characters I didn't intend. I will admit that they make a nice contrast to each other, how's that?
One last thing. Please remember to leave a review at the last chapter! Writing these books has been an extremely long journey for me. I want to know who's come along for the ride! We ought to have a party or something.