Chapter Three

The goddess frowned. "That's what I've just been telling you for the last half hour! Weren't you listening?"

"Erm. . ."

Quite happy to recite the story of her tragic past again, however, the girl smiled beatifically and repeated:

"My name is Syrhénna Starflower and I am the only daughter of Voldemort and the Elvish queen Niavidor. I lived among my mother's people for thirteen wonderful years, learning archery, sword combat and all manners of Elvish and Wizarding magic until I was the strongest in the land. But when I was thirteen, Voldemort found out that I existed and sent hundreds of Death Eaters to my home and killed all my family and friends and kidnapped me. He kept me imprisinned in a dungeon for many years until I found the strength to escape when I overheard two guards saying that my evil father was planning to make Draco Malfoy (who I was engaged to) become a death Eater and kill people. I wandered the earth for endless days until I found him last night and this isn't supposed to happen!"

"What?" Janet was feeling a bit queasy, which in turn made her feel a bit guilty. Syrhénna's (even her name was beautiful!) story was so terrible, and she was so brave, risking her father's wrath to save her true love from the dark side. . . so what was wrong? Surely she should be dong whatever was in her humble abilities to offer comfort to this poor, ethereal being, not sitting on the floor and, well, fighting the urge to throw up.

"Well, her body seems to be rejecting the Sue, even if her mind is complete mush."

"Um, Barbara? You do know this is recording?"

"Oh, right. . . subject is displaying signs of subconscious rejection of the Sue but is still psychically vulnerable to the Sue's influence, namely, the ability to manipulate the emotions of characters in her immediate vicinity in such a way that they perceive her as being inconceivable perfect and/or an instant love interest (illegal under clause 1.6 of the Laws of Fandom Writing)." Barbara put her hand over the mic and whispered, "Was that all right?"

"Yes, it was great- no, really. You're really getting the hang of brackets, too."

"Aw, thanks, Peter." Barbara grinned and uncovered the recorder. "Can you believe this one can actually pronounce spelling errors this side of the Wall? Ach, I can't bear to think what'll happen when I get in there."

"They're getting worse. Last week one of them broke through George's muffler and managed to convince him to go on a quest for the mythical Amulet of Arachnea with her."

"The what now?"

"Magical device for bringing people back through the Veil."

"Oh." Barbara tapped her foot in irritation. "Another one. Nothing to do with spiders, then?"

The two settled back in their chairs. They were still three hours away from Processing, and until then there really wasn't anything to do except watch the two cellmates through the one-way concrete wall n front of them. One-way concrete was so new that the novelty hadn't yet worn off- Jack had brought some back from his suspension in Storage- and the thought that all the people inside the cell could see when looking their way was a concrete wall declaiming the ages-old "Gaz woz ere" was enough to keep Barbs and Peter reasonably amused for at least that long. If not, they could always switch their side of the wall to the movie channel.

"Are you going to help me?" Syrhénna's voice quavered like a host of angels teetering on the edge of a cliff. "I have to save Draco!"

"What? Help you how?" Janet sniffed. Oh, now she was going to get a cold. Brilliant, just bloody brilliant. Her feet were cold, too, Janet having been wandering around the house in slippers before all this happened, and her leg was still aching- no, make that periods of aching interspersed with short, sharp periods of jabbing pain- and the concrete floor in the cell was really very uncomfortable. Worse than the seats in school assembly, and that was saying something. Not to mention the headache that seemed to be getting worse every second-

"Are you going to help me?" Janet glanced up at Miss Starflower, meaning to immediately return her attentions to her own aches and pains but instead was instantly mesmerized, once again, by the girl's haunting eyes. Suddenly, Janet's own woes seemed like mere molehills compared to the Himalaya of Syrhénna's own troubles, and with this knowledge Janet was able to ignore her injuries long enough to stagger over to the bench and put a comforting, albeit rather muddy, arm around the half-elven princess's shoulders. After a moment or two she realised that having a soggy shoulder probably wouldn't be much help to the girl, and removed it.

"If by 'help' you mean getting us both out of here then yeah, sure thing."

Syrhénna sniffed delicately. "How?"

"Er. . ." Janet racked her brain, a process which is not usually as painful as it sounds but, in this instance, was. Trying to ignore the sensation of her cerebral functions being pulled apart by a hunchbacked medieval torturer, she scanned the room for possible escape routes.

To her extreme annoyance, there appeared to be none. The room was square and rather resembled a large concrete box with bars running from floor a few metres in front of the two cellmates. Behind the bars- just a few frustrating centimeters out of reach- was a door that was completely nondescript and somewhat dreary until you noticed that there wasn't a handle on it. Then it became rather forbidding- quite a feat for a length of plywood nicked from a demolition site. On top of that, there were no windows and the roof, unbeknownst to the two girls, had been lowered thirty centimetres to create a feeling of claustrophobia.

Janet, who had spent a lively childhood hiding in closets and toy chests from chores, didn't notice this in the slightest.

"Oh, well. . ." she muttered, hobbling back over to the stool again. Syrhénna didn't respond. "Um, er, I don't think we're going to be able to get out."

No answer.

Janet turned to face Miss Starflower. "Are you even listeni- Jesus Christ!"

It had taken her the first part of a sentence to realise what was happening. Or, rather, not happening.

Janet realised, in a stunned sort of way, that it is very easy to tell the difference between a person who is simply holding their breath and staying very, very still and a person who wasn't breathing at all.

Syrhénna was the latter.

"Oh my god, oh Christ on a freaking crucifix, oh -mushroom- -Finland- -anthrax- "

She stopped. Something wasn't right- well, strictly speaking another thing wasn't right. "What the -arbitrary finkwhiddle- ?"

"It's zer automatic censor,. I'm afroid. Oh, -bacon- !"

Janet looked up. The door was open! Unfortunately, it was blocked by the girl who had just spoken and Janet really didn't think her leg could hold up for long enough to make a heroic dash for freedom. Or any other part of her body, for that matter. Her knees would probably fall off before she'd taken two steps.

"Excuze moy, Miz? If you could plaise follow may?" The new arrival seemed eager to leave, and kept shooting glaring little glances in Syrhénna's direction.

"I- what? No! Um! What did you do to her!" Janet gestured wildly at the wooden bench, where Syrhénna was still sitting, completely motionless. "I-I don't think she's even breathing or anything, it's like she's, she's-"

"Dead wizowt toppelling ovair?"

"What? Yes!" Janet stopped gesturing and turned back to glare at the new girl. "What's wrong with her?"

The girl shrugged. "Ve haf put her in stasiz while hyu come viz moy. Plaise? Oi'm zhorry abowt ze haczent," she added, as Janet looked at her dumbly. "Look, vould hyu plaise just staynd up end come viz may?"

"Come with you where?"

"Oh, jhust hurray, vill you? Ve har goink to zee somevon hew cahn hailp hyu viz all they strange things, ja?"

"Oh. . ." Not quite sure what was being said to her, Janet stood, leant on the girl's proffered arm and half-followed, half-was dragged down the corridor behind the handleless door.