Chapter Twelve
Flight and Pursuit

The first few weeks after Halloween passed quickly. Schoolwork took on more urgency as the students realized that more than half the term had slipped away. Ethan felt buried in an avalanche of homework. He wondered whether Pete, Ryan and Justin were working as hard at O'Keefe. He still felt he was doing well in Charms and Transfiguration and he thought he was holding his own in Hsu's Dark Arts class. He knew that Potions and Herbology were still his weak spots. Renfro seemed to relish pushing the class to the breaking point each meeting, so Ethan at least felt he was in good company. He got by in Crockett's class with Tim's help. He helped pull Anne through History of Magic. The boys continued to find Bancroft's classes fascinating, while Anne simply thought them bewildering.

"I don't see how learning about Gustavus the Gullible's mission to the Sasquatch of the Cascades in 1725 will help me in the least!" she exclaimed in exasperation to Ethan and Tim over lunch one day. "After all, we already know they can't carry on a normal conversation with humans."

"Well, Bancroft didn't know we'd be seeing one ourselves when he planned the class," Ethan said. "But anyway, I'm sure that Vo..I mean You-Know-Who would be happy to have them on his side, so the more we know about their history the better."

They didn't see much of Kenny. The fifth-years were all starting to feel the pressure of O.W.L.s. Even though the exams themselves weren't until May, the professors constantly found ways to mention them, several of them promising end-of-term exams that would follow the structure of O.W.L.s. When Kenny wasn't immersed in reading, writing or practicing spells, he was out on the fields practicing Quidditch. The Bradbury team would be taking on Tenskwatawa House later in the month, and Danny Dewin, the team captain, was pushing them relentlessly in practice.

So it was that Ethan and his friends let the sphinx fade into the far reaches of their thoughts for most of the month of November. Bancroft said no more on the subject either in or out of class, so it appeared he had also let the matter drop. Meanwhile, Flyte made no new pronouncements on the situation in Britain.

The Wizard's Daily Sentinel ran regular dispatches from their English correspondents assuring readers that reports of the Dark Lord's rising were unfounded and an unnervingly large number of the students seemed satisfied with stories that suggested that anyone who believed otherwise was deluded.

Simon Brocklebank relished the opportunity to taunt Ethan, waving a copy of the Sentinel in his face at breakfast one morning and shouting, "What do you think of that, Mr. Para-Lloyd? Are you sure You-Know-Who's not hiding under your bed? I bet we can find a nice padded room where you and scarboy can trade tall tales! Or maybe your 'rents should ask Crazy Harry where to find their old boss!" Woody Harding guffawed as he sauntered up behind Brocklebank.

Ethan tossed his books to one side, and stood up with clenched fists. Tim put his hand on Ethan's shoulder and forced him to sit back down.

"Just ignore the idiot!" he exclaimed. "He's got nothing better to do and he'd love to get you to lose a few points for Bradbury."

"That's right, calm the little boy down, Van der Muggle," Brocklebank sneered as he walked away, Harding and Van Nort right behind him. "Lord knows we don't want any scenes!"

It was Tim's turn to struggle with his temper. He flushed at Simon's insult and tried in vain to think of a comeback. Anne did it for him, remarking calmly, "At least he knows the difference between angelica and asphodel, unlike some "purebloods" around here."

Then Brocklebank's face turned red and he stammered, "You'll get yours too, Findlay, if you keep hanging around with the likes of them!" It wasn't much of a retort and he knew it, throwing down the newspaper and hurrying away with his entourage.

Ethan picked up the Sentinel, not expecting to find any thing worth reading. He skipped the top story, headlined Secretary of Magic Hosts Summit: Decade of Hemispheric Harmony Proclaimed and quickly saw the article that had set Brocklebank off: High Inquisitor Tightens Hogwarts Standards. The story mostly focused on new inspections for teachers, but also stated that "the new regime has no place for publicity-seeking shirkers among the students, not even the highly eccentric Harry Potter, whose shenanigans have heretofore been tolerated by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

Ethan briefly wondered whether the Sentinel would classify him as a "publicity-seeking shirker." Whatever I am, I'm no shirker, he answered himself, and the last thing I want is more newspaper articles about me. With that, he too threw the newspaper down and headed off to class.

That evening, Ethan was trying to finish up the essay on Shrinking Potions due the next day. Tim was across the room reading a chapter from The Standard Book of Spells, Level One. The common room was full of other Bradburys with similar concerns; it was nearly as quiet as the library for a change. Around eight o'clock, Ethan heard a commotion outside the door. He looked up as the painting swung outwards and saw Kenny Sturtevant, Danny Dewin, Jenny Templeton and Nick Cooper march in, still in their muddy Quidditch outfits, broomsticks in hand. Ethan thought he'd never seen them look this bedraggled and downcast.

"What do we do now?" Nick asked as the four of them stood in front of the fireplace. "What chance do we have without East?"

"Maybe Abernathy will let him out by Saturday," Dewin said hopefully. The Quidditch players didn't really seem to notice their housemates staring at them, wondering.

"Are you kidding, Danny?" said Kenny. "You heard Galvez. He said he hadn't seen an injury that bad since the '74 World Cup."

"There's no way Abernathy would let him play, even if the bones are all healed," Jennifer said dejectedly.

Marcus Gibson finally asked what everyone else in the room wanted to know.

"What's going on, Kenny?"

Kenny turned to Marcus as if he'd just noticed there was someone else in the room.

"Oh, sorry, it's just that Harry East had a nasty accident during practice," he said to Marcus, Ethan and the others listening closely. "It was kind of dark, even though we'd gotten permission to ring the field with blue-flame torches. And it began to snow. Anyway, Sam Doxtater whacked one of the bludgers and Harry couldn't see it coming...he was waiting for me to pass the quaffle to him. As he watched the quaffle, the bludger hit him square in the back of the head. He was probably knocked out by that, then the quaffle hit him in the face and down he went."

Ethan winced as Kenny described the collision.

"He hit the ground with a thud like...," Nick added. "Well, let's just say I've never heard anything like it. Broke both legs and his collarbone. It's amazing he didn't snap his neck."

"Is he going to be OK?" Melissa Murthin asked fearfully.

"In time, sure," Danny Dewin answered. "The bones will probably be better in a few hours at most. But he was concussed pretty badly, too."

"Can't the nurse take care of that, too?" Anne Findlay wondered.

"Yeah, but she takes her time with head injuries," Kenny explained. "And a good thing, too. I've heard that when you rush treatments, the patient can basically wake up a squib."

The group gave a collective shudder of horror at the thought.

"So, we've just got to figure out how to fill a chaser's slot in the next 48 hours," Danny sighed. "And hope that Sam gets over this...she was pretty upset, even though it's not her fault."

"Come on in and let's sit down," Kenny said, ushering the others into the proctors' lounge. He closed the door behind them.

Suddenly, loud chatter replaced the studious silence that had hung over the room before the arrival of the Quidditch players.

"So much for our chances of beating Tenskwatawa," Peter said glumly. "East's the best chaser in the school."

"It's not good," Anne said. "But it's not the end of the world. The seeker's pretty important too and Jenny's a darned good one."

"They still need a new chaser," Marcus chimed in. "Someone who can put the quaffle through the rings, too."

"Can we think of anyone who might be able to do that?" Anne asked with a look of mock puzzlement.

"Maybe we can," Ethan said and he looked straight at Tim, who looked down at his parchment, blushing slightly.

"I think I can," Marcus agreed. "And I'm afraid to say it's not me."

At that moment, the door to the proctors' lounge burst open and Kenny walked quickly over to Tim.

"Van der Meulen, can you join us for a moment?" he said briskly.

"Umm, sure," Tim said, fumbling with the spells textbook and setting down his quill. "Right away, Kenny."

His face now bright red, Tim followed the proctor into the lounge. The door shut again.

The remaining first-years gathered around the large table at which Anne and Melissa had been working.

"Looks like we're not such bad judges of talent after all," Anne said with a grin.

"I hope he doesn't get stage fright," Marcus worried. "Did you see the look on his face when he went in there?"

"He'll get over that," Maddie argued. "Have we ever seen Tim even slightly nervous when he was on a broom?"

"He'd better not think too much about being East's replacement," Peter said cautiously. "Those are big boots to fill."

"Tim's up to it," Ethan said without hesitation.

"I wonder when a first-year last played for the house team," Marcus wondered.

"I'm sure we'll find out soon," Anne said, as the door to the lounge swung open again.

This time, four less distressed Quidditch players emerged with a somewhat dazed-looking Tim.

"Get a good night's sleep, Van der Meulen," Dewin told him. "Remember, practice is at five. I'll talk to Bancroft about getting you a decent broom."

"Remember, Tim, it's not official until Bancroft OKs it," Kenny added. "There's not much doubt he will, though. He's as desperate as we are to win this year."

The four older students trudged upstairs.

The first-years crowded around Tim as he sat back down and pretended to continue taking notes on spells.

"Well, are you going to sit there and act like nothing happened?" Anne asked him incredulously.

"Yeah, come on Tim, you're on the team, right?" Marcus said. "We want to know everything."

Tim looked around at his classmates and shrugged. Ethan thought his friend was laboring to suppress a broad grin.

"Well, yeah, it looks like I'm on the team, on Saturday at least," he told them. "I'll be on as a reserve, if Bancroft approves it. That means as soon as East is OK to play, I sit."

"You might as well give your Charms homework a rest, Tim," Ethan suggested. "We won't be getting to that chapter in class until next week, after the match."

"Yeah, you'd better get some rest," Peter agreed.

"I know, I know," Tim replied. "It's just...ah, I don't know how well I'll sleep."

"Of course you're nervous, Tim," Anne said. "Who wouldn't be? But we all know how well you fly. You'll be fine."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," Tim said calmly.

"You're not?" Anne asked, momentarily confused. "OK, then what is it?"

"Well, I'm afraid this might give Brocklebank a conniption fit," Tim said, finally allowing himself a big smile. "But seriously, I know he'll have something to say about it."

"You leave Simon to us," Ethan volunteered earnestly. "You worry about playing!"

"OK, that's a deal," Tim said as he loaded his books into his satchel and stood up. "I can sleep now."

Despite their admonitions that Tim needed rest, the other first-year boys couldn't keep themselves from discussing quidditch strategy with him for another hour upstairs in their dorm. Finally, as Marcus and Peter tried to explain the strategy employed by the Bulgarian national team in their World Cup semifinal the year before, Ethan pointed out to them that Tim had fallen asleep. Indeed, he was snoring. With that, the rest of them blew out their candles and crawled into their beds.

At breakfast the next morning, Professor Bancroft came down to the first-years' table and told Tim that he was officially on the team. In his right hand he carried a long, narrow package.

"Now, Mr. Van der Meulen, I trust you won't let this go to your head," Bancroft said as he passed the package to Tim. "But I really didn't want you to be stuck with an outmoded broom under the circumstances."

"Thank you, sir," Tim answered as he turned the package excitedly in his hands. "Erm...can I open it?"

"Certainly, after all, you'll need to be flying on it by this afternoon!" Professor Bancroft told him. "Oh, but you'd best open it back in Bradbury Tower."

With that, Bancroft headed back to the faculty table and the first-years set a new speed record going from the Assembly Hall to the Bradbury common room. Once there, Tim set the package down on a long table, untied the packing twine and unwrapped the plain brown shipping paper.

A collective gasp of awe filled the room.

"That's not just a broom, Tim!" Marcus exclaimed. "That's a Quicksilver XL!"

"Fastest broom in North America!" Anne added.

"Can I have a go?" Kyle asked. "I mean, sometime after the match, of course."

Ethan thought the broom was the finest thing he'd ever seen and he felt a small twinge of envy at Tim's good fortune. The Quicksilver was made of a dark walnut wood, aerodynamically shaped with the bristles neatly tied with strong cords. The image of a winged foot, stamped in silver, adorned both sides of the handle end.

Tim stowed the broom beneath his bed and then the group headed off to Charms class, which they reached just on time.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. The Bradbury Quidditch team practiced right after regular classes ended, so Tim missed Music. The team drilled only until darkness fell, so as to avoid further accidents. Tim joined his classmates late for dinner, flopping down between Ethan and Marcus.

Ethan thought his friend looked exhausted; he wondered how he would make it through a real game. But the others questioned him eagerly about practice.

"Did they teach you any new moves?" Marcus asked.

"Not really," Tim replied. "Mostly I just tried to keep up with everyone and watch what they did. Kenny was a big help."

"Well, you know," Anne said, "what you really need to know is how to dodge bludgers."

"That's right, just ask Ethan," Melissa agreed. "After all, who do you think Brocklebank learned from?"

"Just be glad you're not the Seeker, man," Peter added between bites of his cheeseburger. "They're the ones who usually get hurt worst."

"Thanks for that, I feel much better now," Tim said wryly. "But really, chasing the snitch isn't my idea of fun anyway."

With that, Tim started in on a large serving of blueberry sponge and the others let him enjoy it.

Tim retired early that Friday evening at Kenny's insistence. At Anne's suggestion, Ethan went to work on a banner to hang in the stands next day. An old sheet was procured and Ethan brought out some magical paint and ink from the art studio. These he used to paint a moving image of a Quidditch player on a Quicksilver XL hurling a quaffle. Above this he wrote the words, "BRADBURY RULES! Go, TIM, Go!" He flanked the words with the Bradbury coat of arms, which featured a fierce-looking mountain lion.

Finally, Ethan stood back and assessed his work, stifling a yawn as he did.

"That's great, Ethan!" Anne told him, and the others murmured their approval.

"Good, 'cause that's all I can do tonight," said Ethan, yawning again. "Good night, all!"

With that he headed up to the dorm room. Tim's curtains were drawn, so Ethan tried to quietly get into his pajamas and prepare for bed.

But as he climbed into bed, Tim stuck his head out of his curtains.

"Oh, good, it's you, Ethan," he said sleepily.

"Sorry, man, I tried not to wake you," Ethan apologized.

"Oh, not to worry, I wasn't asleep," Tim replied.

"No? I thought you were under strict orders to sleep early tonight," Ethan said with a grin.

"Yeah, well that's a sure way to cause insomnia," Tim answered. "But...actually there is something else."

"What's that?" asked Ethan.

"Well it's just...it really has nothing to do with the game," Tim began. "I mean, I'm not really all that worried about that."

Ethan wished his friend would get to the point.

"OK, it's just this...if you're right about Tiverton trying to get by that sphinx," Tim continued, "What better time to do it than when the whole school's outside watching Quidditch?"

Ethan hadn't given the sphinx or the mystery it guarded much thought the past few days. He tried to get his sleepy brain to focus on Tim's concern.

"But, Tim, he'll have to be at the match, won't he?" he finally said. "After all, Tenskwatawa's playing. If he wasn't there, he'd be missed."

"That's true," Tim said. "Maybe it's a crazy idea. Still, for some reason it's been keeping me awake."

"I'll tell you what," Ethan said. "We'll keep an eye on Tiverton from the stands. If anything funny happens, if he leaves...we'll tail him somehow."

"Don't get into trouble!" Tim said. "Like I said, it's probably crazy to worry about it."

"Now, go to bed, OK?" Ethan said. "Kenny'll have my head if he thinks I've been keeping you awake!"

"OK, good night!" Tim said as he pulled his bed curtains closed again.

Ethan put out his lamp, set his glasses on the bedside table, climbed into his own four-poster and pulled his curtains shut. Within minutes he heard Tim snoring. But now it was Ethan's turn to lie awake and worry.

How could he know when Tiverton would try to get past the Sphinx, after all? Tim was right; it would probably be too difficult for the Transfiguration professor to absent himself from his own house's Quidditch match. But if he did, how could Ethan and his friends do anything to stop him? The more Ethan thought about it, he realized the first-years hadn't really learned any spells that would help. Kenny might know some, but he would be on the Quidditch field with Tim. If Tiverton gets by the creature, I'll be lucky not to end up as the Sphinx's next meal. Worst of all, he hadn't figured out what was being guarded beyond that strange doorway.

And yet, for reasons he could not even put into words, Ethan felt responsible for keeping the mysterious item safe. From the moment he had seen the rune on the door that led them to the Sphinx, the feeling had been growing in his mind that this task was meant for him.

But as he lay in bed, wishing he'd fallen asleep as quickly as Tim had, Ethan couldn't help feeling that he was failing in that task. He barely noticed that the other boys had also gone to bed, leaving the room in darkness, except for the light of the full moon shining in through the tall windows.

Finally, Ethan drifted off to sleep, still worrying. His dreams were troubled, but all he could remember next morning were hallways with locked doors, unanswerable riddles and shimmering, many-colored lights.

Saturday dawned cold and clear, the late fall sun shining ineffectually on the mountain top. A blustery breeze blew from the northwest, scattering dried leaves about the grounds.

Ethan awoke to the sound of the wind rattling the dorm windows. He opened the curtains and reached for his glasses. As the room came into focus, he saw that Tim was already up and dressed.

"So, did you get enough sleep?" Ethan asked.

"Guess so," Tim answered in a low voice. "Anyway, I can't sleep another minute. How about you?"

"I slept," Ethan replied ruefully. "But I don't feel a bit rested. I don't think I can go back to sleep, either."

"Well, may as well head down to breakfast," Tim suggested. As soon as Ethan had dressed, they found their way to the nearly-empty Assembly Hall. As the two of them worked their way through oatmeal, sausages and eggs, other students began to filter into the room and a buzz of anticipation arose across the room.

The Bradbury-Tenskwatawa game was scheduled to begin at precisely 10 o'clock. After it ended, Harrison would play Tituba. At about 8:30, Kenny Sturtevant walked over to Tim.

"Come along as soon as you're done," the proctor said. "We need to do final prep a little after 9."

Simon Brocklebank had been watching from the Tenskwatawa table along with his gang. Once Kenny was safely out of the Assembly Hall, he snorted derisively.

"So it's true, eh, Van der Muggle? They're desperate enough to put you on the Quidditch field! Hope you've written your will!"

Van Nort, Harding, Katrina Powles and an older Tenskwatawa Ethan didn't know snickered at Simon's comment.

Tim flushed but it was Anne who spoke up.

"We'll see who's desperate after the match, Brocklebank," she said defiantly.

"Like you told me, just ignore him," Ethan told Tim. "You know he talks because that's all he can do."

Tim shrugged and said nothing, but Ethan thought he was finally showing some nervousness as the match approached. A few minutes later, Tim got up to head out to the locker room.

"Good luck!" Ethan told him. "Not that you'll need it."

"I'll take the luck whether I need it or not!" Tim rejoined.

The other Bradburys headed back to the tower to don sweaters, jackets hats and scarves, as it promised to be a cold day in the bleachers. Ethan folded up his banner and headed down from the dorm to join the others.

Anne was in a buoyant mood, sure that Bradbury would prevail. On the way down the tower, Ethan told her what Tim had said about Tiverton.

"Well, you go ahead and keep an eye on him," she said. "I'll go with you if he suddenly bolts, but I'll bet he'll be so downcast after we get done with his team that he won't be able to move."

The autumn wind felt chilly against Ethan's face as they walked across the grounds. The blustery weather only added to the student's anticipation of the coming match.

"It's been five years since we beat Tenskwatawa," Marcus said. "There are some who think our team's jinxed."

"Nonsense," said Anne dismissively. "It's just a question of having the best players on the best brooms. And this year, we've got both."

"We know that Tim's a great flyer," Melissa added. "But he's a bit of an unknown quantity to everyone else. Even some of our own upper class students aren't sure we've got a chance."

The Quidditch field was ringed by an oval fence, which was interrupted at intervals by five towers, in which the stands were located. At one end of the field was the faculty grandstand, wider but not so tall as the other four. Emblazoned across the base of this tower was the school coat of arms.

The other four towers--one for each house--were arranged along either side of the field. The Harrison and Tituba towers stood on the side nearest the school. But the Tenskwatawa and Bradbury students had to trudge around to the far side to reach their seats.

This brought them past the locker building at the end of the field, opposite the faculty tower. As Ethan's group walked past the lockers on the way to their bleachers, he wondered whether Tim had butterflies in his stomach and he tried to imagine what it would be like to be flying in a match before the whole school.

But he hadn't much time for these thoughts, because just around the corner they found themselves amid a knot of unruly Tenskwatawas, who were delighted to find a small group of young Bradburys to taunt. "Prophets rule, Bradburys drool!" someone shouted, and that was one of the kinder comments.

Anne usually relished a confrontation, but evidently she didn't like the odds, for she whispered to Ethan, "Let's get out of here. There are too many of them!"

Ethan nodded and tried to move ahead toward the Bradbury stands. But Lew Van Nort and an older Tenskwatawa loomed up before him, blocking the way. Just then, Ethan heard Katrina Powles mocking her twin brother again.

Peter replied hotly, "Yeah, well a dozen Prophets aren't worth one Bradbury!"

"You'll pay for that remark, Powles!" Brocklebank retorted and Ethan saw Simon slide his hand into his sweater pocket. "What would you like to be, a toad or a mole?"

Ethan quickly reached for his wand and had it at the ready as soon as Simon had his pointed at Peter.

"Don't even think about it!" Ethan yelled.

"Thinking of playing the hero, eh, Lloyd?" Simon sneered, but he also drew down his wand.

As he did, Professor Tiverton came around the corner. Brocklebank quickly pocketed his wand, but Ethan wasn't as fast.

Tiverton's face folded up in a tic, then he sputtered, "Put that wand away, Lloyd! Spectators are not allowed to do magic at Quidditch matches! That will cost Bradbury ten points and I assure you that Professor Bancroft will hear about it."

"But, sir, Brocklebank threatened to hex Peter," Anne protested.

"That's none of Mr. Lloyd's business--or yours," Tiverton told her. "I see no one else with a wand out. Now, all of you go to your seats at once!"

Ethan was beside himself, but he managed to keep himself from saying anything. As he stowed his wand and headed for the Bradbury stands, he shot a glance at Brocklebank, who smirked unpleasantly in return.

"That's not fair!" he finally exploded as they made their way up the steep stairs of the bleachers. "I only drew my wand after Simon drew his."

"Well, that's true enough," said Anne. "But Tiverton doesn't need much of an excuse to favor his own house. And Simon's obviously good at hiding his wand quickly."

"The weasel!" Marcus exclaimed. "He was just lucky he was already putting it away. Thought better of it when he saw someone would stand up to him. By the way, Ethan, what were you going to hex him with?"

"Dunno," Ethan replied truthfully. "I don't really know any good hexes yet."

"You'd better learn some," Anne admonished him. "You can bet Simon's learned all sorts of annoying spells at home. He'd love to lock your legs together or turn your skin purple, or maybe something worse. My own brothers managed to pick up quite a few on their own--and they aren't into Dark Arts the way the Brocklebanks are."

As they sat down in the top row of the Bradbury bleachers, Ethan pondered Anne's warning. He hadn't really considered it before, but now he realized that she was right--while he was playing Little League or skipping rocks in Lake Monona, Brocklebank was probably practicing nasty curses on bullfrogs. The only spells I know are the ones the professors at Kaaterskill teach, he told himself ruefully.

Fortunately, the start of the match drove such matters from his mind in a few moments. A fifth-year Harrison boy, Gordy Lemister, served as commentator. He sat at the front of the faculty grandstand with a large scoreboard hanging in front of him.

"Welcome to today's first match in the Kaaterskill House Quidditch Challenge! Here are today's teams. Beginning at this end of the field, the defending champion Tenskwatawa Prophets!"

There was a roar from the stands to Ethan's right and the Tenskwatawa team shot onto the field from the left side of the locker building.

"And starting on the far side today, the Bradbury Founders!"

Ethan and his friends cheered at the top of their lungs as the Bradbury team flew out to take their places. And there was Tim, hovering at the right chaser position. Peter and Kyle unfurled Ethan's banner so all could read: "BRADBURY RULES! Go, TIM, Go!"

"Today's referee will be our own flying instructor, Mr. Bruno Galvez!" Polite applause followed, and then the crowd quieted for a moment.

Cyrus Flyte stood up in the center of the faculty grandstand and spoke in a voice that carried throughout the stands: "May you all bring credit to yourselves and your houses today. Play hard and play fair! May the best team win!"

With that, the bludgers and the snitch were released. A moment later, Galvez hurled the quaffle into the air and the match was underway.

Kenny Sturtevant grabbed the quaffle and flew out of the opening scrum towards the Tenskwatawa goal. One of the Prophets' chasers took off after him. Kenny lateralled the quaffle to Tim, who was trailing him. Before the crowd had a chance to get settled, Tim dodged a defender, gave the keeper a head fake and flung the quaffle through the far hoop.

A bell sounded. Gordy shouted importantly, "Score for Bradbury! That one was by the rookie, Van der Meulen!"

The Bradbury fans cheered loudly, none more so than the first-years. The scoreboard now read "Bradbury 10, Tenskwatawa 0."

Kyle and Peter held the banner up and waved it as play resumed. Gordy began a running commentary.

"Prophets captain Mo Barnhill with the quaffle. Seekers Templeton and Sanchez hovering, no sign of the Snitch as yet. Barnhill over to Miller, Miller dodges a bludger and passes back to Barnhill. Ouch! The bludger takes Barnhill out of the play, nice hit by Bradbury beater Nick Cooper. Travisano now with the quaffle for Bradbury, she's quickly up the field, passes to Van der Meulen on her left. The rookie feints right, then whirls to the left and SCORES! An amazing backhand toss through the center hoop! 20-0 Bradbury!" Gordy announced breathlessly. "This Van der Meulen kid has some moves, that's for sure!"

After the second score, the first-years started to chant "Van der Meulen!" Soon the rest of the Bradbury bleachers rocked with Tim's name.

The Prophets scored their first goal next, but Tim assisted on a goal by Kenny moments later to make the score 30-10.

Before play resumed, Barnhill conferred with his beaters and chasers.

"I wonder what they're up to," Anne said darkly.

She didn't have to wait long to find out. After the next change of possession, Barnhill and a brutish-looking Prophets chaser called Ezra Smead checked Tim hard in the ribs as he headed for the quaffle. Shortly afterwards, one of the Prophets' beaters scored a direct hit on Tim's back with a bludger.

"Looks like the Prophets aren't going to let the rookie walk over them," Gordy commented. "That had to hurt!"

Tenskwatawa continued to harass Tim, being careful not to hit him when Galvez was looking. They took Bradbury out of their game and slowly caught up, then built a lead, 30-50. Matters continued thus until Tenskwatawa held a commanding 40-110 lead after two hours.

Ethan had been keeping an eye on the faculty grandstand throughout the match. Professor Tiverton hadn't gone anywhere; he cheered each Prophets' score loudly and was smiling broadly.

The first-years' initial elation had given way to dismay as Tim took hit after hit.

"Why doesn't Galvez call a foul?" Ethan asked in frustration.

"Well, he should," said Marcus. "But if you've noticed, they only hit him when they're sure Galvez is looking elsewhere."

"They're brutes, but clever brutes," Anne added ruefully.

"It's lucky he's got that Quicksilver," Marcus asserted. "It really maneuvers well and he's avoided them a couple of times. But no one can take that kind of a beating for long."

Finally, after two more Tenskwatawa goals, Danny Dewin signaled for a time out. While the players conferred on the ground, the low murmur of the crowd filled the air. And a new chant arose from the Tenskwatawa stands: "Maul the Mudblood! Maul the Mudblood!" Ethan turned to his right and saw Simon Brocklebank gleefully leading the cheer.

But on the field the Bradburys had finally adjusted their play to frustrate further attacks on Tim. When Melinda Travisano grabbed the quaffle, the three chasers set up a wheel formation just outside the scoring area. The Prophets alternately tried to foul Tim and steal the quaffle, but the Bradburys passing was perfect.

"Why aren't they shooting?" Peter asked impatiently.

"Dunno," Marcus answered. "Wait a minute. I see what they're doing. They're keeping the ref's attention on Tim. They're trying to draw the Prophets into a penalty."

"But will they fall for it?" Ethan wondered aloud.

"There's your answer," Marcus pointed.

Just then Barnhill and Smead, frustrated by the Bradbury tactics, smacked into Tim hard just after he'd passed off to Melinda. Galvez was looking straight at them, as Tim hurtled towards the ground and narrowly missed a crash.

"Another vicious hit on Van der Meulen!" Gordy commented. "Looks like a foul this time, though."

Galvez admonished Barnhill sharply, and then called the Prophets for not one, but two fouls.

Tim had recovered and zoomed back, his face a bit bloodied. Even from the stands Ethan caught a look of defiance in his friend's eyes.

"The ref's awarding two penalty shots," Gordy announced. "He's called Barnhill for blatching and Smead for cobbing. Sturtevant makes the first shot, firing it over Alton Van Nort's left shoulder. Van der Meulen takes the second penalty shot and...Oh, a great block by Van Nort. Play continues, Bradbury in possession."

Alas, the penalties only briefly stemmed the Prophets' tide. Finally, the score read Bradbury 50, Tenskwatawa 200.

"If this gets any worse, even catching the Snitch won't help," Peter moaned.

"Hang on, something's happening back there," Ethan said, pointing high in the air over the Bradbury side of the field.

Indeed, Jenny Templeton had caught a glimpse of the golden Snitch and was now in hot pursuit of the winged ball. The Prophets' seeker, Sanchez, was slow to catch up, but presently both seekers were hurtling around behind the Bradbury goal, pushing off and elbowing each other to get the advantage.

The crowd was transfixed by the chase and even the other players seemed a bit distracted.

"But if she catches it now, we don't even win!" Peter repeated.

"I'll take a draw at this point," Anne said, pointing towards the Prophets fans. "Anything so long as they don't win."

In the next moment, Ethan glanced to his left and saw that Bradbury had regained the quaffle. Melinda moved up on the left, dodged a defender, and then dumped off to Tim. A bludger whizzed past him, missing by inches, then Tim sped around behind the hoops.

Ethan didn't know which way to turn. Templeton and Sanchez were now high above the field again, a glint of gold fluttering before them. Turning to the left again, Ethan saw Tim swoop back to the front of the hoop, draw off Keeper Van Nort with a fake shot at the near goal then swiftly hurl the quaffle through the center hoop.

Before Gordy could even yell "Score!" a roar came from the stands, for Jenny had managed to grasp the snitch. As she glided down to the ground, she held the snitch aloft triumphantly.

Gordy shouted hoarsely, "The match is over! An amazing finish! Van der Meulen scored to make it Prophets 200, Founders 60 and Templeton's got the snitch for another 150 points! Bradbury wins!"

The Bradbury bleachers erupted in joyful cheers. Ethan jumped up and down, exchanging high-fives with everyone in reach and joining in the spontaneous cheers of "Rah, Rah Templeton! Rah, Rah Van der Meulen! Rah, Rah BRADBURY!"

He glanced over at the faculty grandstand again. Professor Bancroft smiled broadly as he shook the headmaster's hand. But Professor Tiverton was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd Tiverton go?" he wondered aloud.

"Couldn't stand to lose?" Marcus suggested absently as he and Kyle did an impromptu victory dance atop the bench. "Who cares?"

But Anne gave Ethan a look that told him she shared his suspicions.

"He was there two minutes ago," she said.

"Let's go," Ethan replied. Anne nodded and they made their way down through the celebrating crowd. Oblivious to Gordy's announcement that the Harrison-Tituba match would begin in twenty minutes, they hurried out of the stands and behind the field. As they turned past the clubhouse, Ethan caught a glimpse of someone hurrying through the main door of the school.

"There he goes!" he shouted. He and Anne sprinted across the lawn and through the doors.

The lobby was deserted. In fact, the school was quieter than Ethan had ever known it. They stopped just inside the door and stood, listening. They were rewarded with the echo of footsteps fading down the empty hallway to their left.

Neither Ethan nor Anne had ever ventured far down this hall, for it wasn't on any of their direct routes to or from class. They could see no one, but without a word they hurried after the footsteps as quietly as they could.

Once past the entry, the passage became dark and gloomy, with no windows. Ethan had already completely forgotten the quidditch match and soon he could barely remember that the sun was shining outside.

Presently they came to a corner. The passage turned at a right angle and seemed to slope down slightly.

Anne stopped at the corner. Thoroughly winded, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Ethan nearly doubled over, hands on his knees, panting.

From above them, a stern voice said, "You shouldn't be here, you know!" Startled, Ethan looked around and realized the voice belonged to a gaunt wizard in colonial garb whose portrait overlooked the corner. "You should be out at the match with the others."

"Yeah, we're going right back," Ethan said, surprising himself with this fabrication. "We're just, um, looking for a friend."

"You won't find him down here," the wizard portrait told them. "The only one past here for hours was a professor."

"When was that?" Anne asked.

"Not two minutes ago, I should say," the wizard portrait answered.

Ethan and Anne looked at each other and continued at a brisk trot down the sloping passage.

"I told you, you won't find your friend down there," the portrait called after them. "Really, now, you students should learn to listen!"

After they'd gone some distance, Anne stopped again and said," Ethan, I know where we are. That's the doorway to Tenskwatawa House. And up there is the staircase to the owl roost."

"That means we're close," Ethan whispered. "Where's that statue of the snake?"

"Ugh! I'd forgotten that we had to go past that," Anne said with a shudder. "I don't see it yet."

They crept forward slowly now. The corridor was completely quiet and no brighter than it had been at night two months earlier.

Ethan thought he could see the false painted corridor coming into focus ahead.

Anne tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, "You know, Ethan, we could be wrong. Tiverton may just have been heading to..."

She stopped abruptly and pointed at the ceiling. Ethan looked up and saw a huge snake, coiled as if ready to strike, hovering high above the corridor. It took a moment for him to realize that it was the statue and that it was gliding slowly in their direction.

Ethan wanted to turn and run, but he found his legs wouldn't move. Anne also seemed rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with fear.

The snake floated directly above them. Then a harsh voice shouted "Finite!"

In that instant the snake began to descend on the students. Ethan instinctively covered his head with his hands, expecting to be crushed in seconds by the heavy stone snake. Instead, another voice cried "Frangite!" There followed the sharp sound of stone splintering into thousands of tiny shards that showered down upon them.

Ethan found himself covered with fine rock dust, rather than flattened by the weight of the statue. Dazed, he raised his eyes and saw Anne sprawled on the floor next to him.

Struggling not to choke on the fine dust, he croaked, "Anne, are you OK?"

She coughed, then replied, "I think so. How about you?"

"I think I'm OK, too," Ethan told her. "Except for this awful dust."

"I'll take the dust over being crushed to death," Anne said fervently. "What happened? Was that your spell?"

"Nope," Ethan answered. "I don't know who did. But it sure seems someone didn't want us to be here."

Ethan stopped, for he was suddenly aware that they were not alone. He looked up to see the stooped figure of Epaphras Beadle, the Keeper of Buildings, his hair as unkempt as ever, his stubbly face turned down in a frown as he surveyed Ethan and Anne.

"Well, well, well," Beadle said. "What have you two gotten into? Looks to me like you've caused a load of trouble."

Ethan fumbled for an explanation. "I was, I mean..we were just going to..."

Beadle held up his hand and said, "Save your breath, youngster. You've no business being in this corridor when you should be out at the game. And this is a long way from Bradbury Tower! No, you both just come along with me."

Ethan felt as miserable as he ever had as he trudged along obediently behind Beadle. He couldn't escape the feeling that they were about to be expelled. He couldn't bring himself to look at Anne, for it was his fault that she was in trouble, too. If he got himself thrown out of Kaaterskill, he could always go back to muggle school at O'Keefe. But Anne had no school to go back to on her family's island.

He could not imagine that things could get worse, but they did. As they reached the corridor along which the Sphinx was concealed, Beadle stopped.

"Ah, hello there, Professor, sir" Beadle said deferentially. "Sorry to hear how the match ended."

"Hello, Beadle," Terence Tiverton answered. "Thanks, but what have we here?"

"Found these two loitering down there," Beadle said as he gestured back down the hall. "Probably some house prank, but they made quite a mess of that snake statue."

"Really?" Tiverton sounded surprised as he surveyed the dust-covered Bradburys. "Mr. Lloyd, you just can't stay out of trouble, can you? And Miss Findlay, you should choose your friends more carefully! That will be twenty-five points from Bradbury from each of you."

Ethan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at Tiverton's words. There was no use protesting, but now he'd be remembered as the boy who'd lost Bradbury 60 points on the day he'd been kicked out of school.

"Shall I take care of them, Professor?" Beadle asked.

"Indeed, Beadle. I've got to get back to the second match."

"Very well, sir," Beadle answered, then said to Ethan and Anne, "Off we go now."

Beadle's office was in a part of the dungeons that could only be reached by a spiral staircase located just off the main entrance. Down they went. When they reached the bottom, Ethan thought they must have been two or three stories below ground.

They found themselves in a small and somewhat dingy office, with an ancient desk strewn with papers next to two ranks of old metal filing cabinets.

Off to the right were two rooms that seemed to be Beadle's living quarters.

"Well, then, clean yourselves up," Beadle ordered as he tossed them each an old towel. "And then sit down."

Ethan brushed the dust off his face and hands as best he could and then sat down in one of several uncomfortable metal chairs in front of Beadle's desk.

Beadle had been feeding a very large crow in a cage that hung from the ceiling above his desk. As Ethan and Anne sat down, the crow gave a vigorous, scolding caw.

"What's that, Manfred?" Beadle spoke to the crow. "No, these ones aren't your dinner. Not at this time, anyway."

"You don't feed students to that crow?" Anne asked, horrified.

Ethan would not have found anything surprising at that moment, but Beadle shook his head.

"No, miss," the buildings keeper replied with a grin. "He's ever hopeful, though. In the old days, they had real punishments! Alas, I was born too late for that!"

"What are you going to do with us?" Ethan asked, unable to take the suspense any longer. "Are you going to expel us?"

"Expel you?" Beadle asked incredulously, suddenly roaring with laughter. "Now what good would that do? We can't have budding miscreants such as you wandering around the world, now can we? Oh, no, there are much more effective treatments!"

Ethan was silent. The weight that he had felt in his stomach ever since Beadle had apprehended them lifted just a bit. It seemed they wouldn't be sent home, yet the alternative sounded ominous.

"We can start with detention, I suppose," Beadle said, pulling some papers out of his desk drawer. "Let's see, what are your names again?"

"Findlay. Anne Findlay, sir," Anne volunteered in a small voice.

"Findlay, right, here you are," Beadle said as he drew his finger down one of his papers. Without looking up, he continued. "Well, Miss Findlay, I suppose that Phineas, Nicholas, Tycho and Herschel Findlay are related to you?"

"Yes, sir," Anne said. "They're my brothers."

"Troublemakers, all of them!" Beadle exclaimed. "Well, except for Herschel, of course. A good Head Boy he was, yes."

Beadle turned to appraise Ethan.

"And you?"

"Lloyd, sir. Ethan Lloyd."

"Lloyd, yes of course," Beadle said, keeping his eyes on Ethan. "Who are your parents, boy?"

"Griffin and Diana Lloyd, sir," Ethan answered. Why, he wondered, did everyone, even the school custodian, have to ask about his family history?

"I should have known," Beadle said in a near-whisper, as if talking to himself. Then he continued in a normal voice. "Whatever you two were up to, it was your idea, wasn't it, boy?"

Ethan hesitated, trying to calculate the implications of his answer. Then he decided that telling the truth might get Anne out of trouble.

"Umm, yes, sir, it was," he admitted, looking into Beadle's eyes.

"Worried about a family heirloom, by any chance?" Beadle pressed him.

This was close enough to the truth that Ethan began to feel panicky. If the Keeper of Buildings could guess what he was after, who else could?

"What do you mean?" he replied, trying hard to sound clueless.

"I'm not trying to get you to confide anything you don't have a mind to share," Beadle said in a voice that suddenly sounded almost kindly. "But I knew your parents well. Your father got into too many scrapes, especially in his early years, and I don't doubt you take after him. But I've never yet met a better wizard--or a better witch than your mother. But I'm tellin' you, Mr. Lloyd, it's quite safe!"

Ethan and Anne both kept silent.

"Very well, keep your secret, then," Beadle finally said. "I'm not going to punish you any more than Professor Tiverton already has. After all, that statue belonged to his house."

"You're not even giving us detention?" Ethan asked, unbelieving.

"No," Beadle told them. "But I am going to give you some advice. This school can be a dangerous place to them that recklessly run about and ignore its secrets. There are spells and protections set for the unwary, even curses the like of which you can't imagine. So, keep your guard up."

"Thanks, sir," Ethan and Anne said together, finally realizing they'd been let off.

"Off you go, now," Beadle waved towards the spiral stair. "But remember, I'll not always be around to help you out of scrapes. Oh, and one last thing...Don't spread it about that I went easy on you! Can't let that get around, can I?"

Ethan and Anne assured Beadle they would keep his leniency to themselves. Then they rushed up the spiral stairs, back through the entry hall and out to the quidditch field.

Cheers, chants and collective groans filled the air, so they knew the whole school was still watching the contest between Harrison and Tituba. They slipped back into the Bradbury stands and rejoined Marcus, Kyle and the other first years.

"So, Ethan, where've you been?" Tim shouted. He was still dressed in his mud-streaked uniform and held the Quicksilver XL in his left hand. "You look almost as filthy as me!"

Ethan walked over to Tim, leaned over and said quietly, "I'll tell you later." Then he clapped Tim on the shoulder and said in a louder voice, "Congratulations! You did a great job out there!"

Tim winced and cradled his left shoulder.

"Sorry," said Ethan sheepishly.

"Oh, don't worry," Tim said. "I just got knocked around a bit. Lucky I used to play hockey, I'm used to it!"

"I couldn't believe the beating they gave you," Anne interjected. "Are you really OK?"

"Sure," Tim assured her. "As long as I don't raise my arms too far or breathe too deeply."

The Bradburys watched the Harrison-Tituba match with some interest, although not as avidly as they had their own contest against the Prophets. Tituba had dominated, Marcus informed Ethan. Just before the two-hour mark, the Tituba seeker grabbed the fluttering snitch right in front of the faculty grandstand.

It was the Titubas' turn to celebrate. Then Tim headed to the locker room and everyone else headed back into the school building, glad to be out of the wind.

By the time Ethan and his classmates made it back to the Bradbury common room, the party had already begun. Some of the older students had acquired several cases of butterbeer, pumpkin cakes, wonderfully strange chocolates and sweets from the shops in the village at the Landing. Others had visited the kitchens and returned with pumpkin juice, shoofly pie, baked apples and cranberry ices.

Floating around the room just below the high ceiling, sparklers spelled out the names of all the Bradbury House quidditch players. When the team arrived back from the lockers, they were greeted with enthusiastic cheers. After a few minutes, Danny Dewin raised his hand to speak.

"Well, we did it!" he exclaimed, smiling broadly. "It's a first for me, beating Tenskwatawa! In fact, the first time Bradbury's beaten them in seven years! We won because we played as a team. Everyone did their job and worked together!"

The room rang again with applause. Then Danny continued, "We know we've got a great team this year! But I want to recognize three players today...first, Jenny Templeton, the best seeker at Kaaterskill!"

Jenny, a tall, slender girl with long blonde hair, smiled and also blushed a bit as Danny insisted she stand and the Bradburys cheered.

"Second, someone who redefined the term 'substitute' today...Tim Van der Meulen, who I think has a great quidditch future ahead of him! Come on, Tim, you're not too bruised to stand up!"

Tim grudgingly stood up, blushing deeply.

Again, the room rang with cheers. Then Danny produced a quaffle from behind his back and continued, "But the team decided that a game quaffle should go to Harry East, the best chaser at Kaaterskill! Harry, we managed without you today, but you'd better be ready to play next time!"

East, an athletic 7th-year with chestnut hair still partially obscured by a bandage, stepped forward and accepted the quaffle from Danny. He acknowledged the Bradburys' applause with a quick wave and stepped back behind Danny. Ethan didn't think East looked overjoyed at his award, but then he was only a few days removed from a near-fatal accident.

The party continued until dinner, then picked up again later. Players and fans alike tired early that night, having spent most of the day out in the cold wind of the mountain top and most of the evening celebrating in the cozy common room.

Ethan and Anne had no chance to discuss their pursuit of Tiverton with Tim until after 10:00, when the last few celebrants headed sleepily up to the dorms.

Ethan was starting to nod off himself in a comfortable arm chair in front of the fire, but he willed himself to stay awake until they'd told the equally sleepy Tim the whole story.

After listening carefully, Tim asked, "Well, so do you really think Tiverton was headed for the Sphinx?"

"I'd just begun to doubt it," Anne began, "but then..."

"But then he tried to kill us with that snake statue," Ethan broke in. "And then he acted as if we'd destroyed it as a prank."

"But I don't get it," Tim said. "It sure sounds like he wanted to drop that statue on you. But someone shattered it before it hit you. Who was it?"

"It must have been Beadle," Ethan answered. "Who else could it have been?"

"But he didn't say anything about it," Anne said, her brow furrowed in thought. "And that was a powerful bit of magic and quick thinking to boot."

"Doesn't sound like Beadle to me," said Tim.

"But I told you, Tim, there's more to Beadle than we've thought," Ethan insisted. "And he was standing there the minute we got up. As far as I could tell, the only people in the whole school were Anne, me, Tiverton and Beadle."

"I guess you're right," Tim agreed reluctantly. "You know, the proctors won't be pleased when they find out about the points you two lost."

"I know, I know," Ethan said with a grimace. "But if we stopped Tiverton getting past that Sphinx, it was worth it, don't you think?"

The others nodded.

Anne added, "And I'll wager he won't dare to try again anytime soon. Like Beadle said, it's well protected."

"I hope so," said Tim with a yawn. "'Cause I can't stay awake a minute longer."

The others nodded. Anne headed up the stairs to the girls' dorm and a moment later, the boys went up to their beds.

"Well, it was quite a day," Tim said as he pulled his curtains shut. "Good night, Ethan!"

"Good night!" Ethan whispered from his own bed. Within minutes he was asleep and if he dreamed of sphinxes or runes, he had no recollection of it in the morning.

Page 22 of 22 Printed 7/25/05