In which we see that Ari DOES in fact have a character flaw. If you think it's a little disturbing, sorry.

Potter and Granger came for Draco after dinner, leaving me alone in the strange room. I retreated back to the bathtub armed with more books and battled my way through Ice Queen. I couldn't relax, but what else could I do? I wasn't allowed to leave the room yet. I eventually got tired enough to go to sleep, but it was more of a fitful doze. I woke up at dawn the next morning feeling tired and jittery at the same time. I was almost happy to see Granger when she came at seven thirty.

"Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy," she said briskly. "May I come in?"

I stepped aside to let her in and motioned to the sofa. I sat opposite her and nearly swallowed my tongue when a tray of various breakfast foods suddenly appeared on the table. I concealed my reaction and waited patiently for her to make the first move. I wanted desperately to know what had happened at the meeting last night and where Draco was, but I didn't want her to see how. . .well, desperate. . .I really was.

"The Order has accepted his help," Granger told me. "He will not be initiated into the Order—but then, he didn't express an interest in joining. They've sent him on a mission with a few other Order members. He will likely be gone for at least a week."

My heart sank but I nodded and waited for her to go on. People like her always had more to say.

"You should eat something," she urged me. "It's not poison. Anyway, today I will show you around and introduce you to the rest of the staff after I get you up to date with the class. Oh—before we get started, you should know that I will introduce you as Professor Malcolm. Your husband indicated that he has used that pseudonym before. David Malcolm, if I'm not mistaken. Is that right?" I nodded. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, I've forgotten your Christian name."

"Ariadne," I said. "But I've gone by Alexandra—I can remember that."

"Alexandra Malcolm," Granger said, nodding. "That will work. Now. Harry and I have been teaching the Muggle Studies course together. I've been teaching them Muggle history, mathematics, literature, the rudiments of science—you know, so they can understand electricity and planes and such—and Harry has been teaching them about Muggle culture. I believe he's explained about television, movie theaters, what little he knows about popular music—that sort of thing. The class meets on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The goal of the course is to teach students how to function in the Muggle world without drawing attention to themselves. I've found that..."

And so on. I listened carefully to what Granger had to say. It gave me an idea of what I could teach and how I could teach it. While bossy and somewhat patronizing, she did strike me as a very competent, intelligent person. She was probably a very good teacher.

When she finished, I shadowed her for the day, sitting in on her classes—I was right, she was a very good teacher—and meeting other teachers. I had the shock of my life when I came face to face with Gabrielle, though I hid it quickly. She saw the slight shake of my head and had the sense to keep quiet, especially when Granger introduced me as Professor Alexandra Malcolm. I don't believe I ever told Gabrielle my last name, but she knew my first name wasn't Alexandra.

Granger showed me around the castle during her free periods and explained to me about the four Houses, House points, the Prefect system, and other tidbits about the school. She was polite and professional, and didn't once call me by my name—either name. She called me Mrs. Malcolm.

That evening, Professor McGonagall formally introduced me to the student body and the rest of the staff. I didn't know if the other teachers knew who I really was, but they too called me Professor Malcolm or Mrs. Malcolm. One—the Potions professor, I think—by the name of Slughorn made a very clumsy attempt at hitting on me. It was really gross. He was really gross. But, beyond that, dinner was a surprisingly painless affair.

I spent the next few days sitting in on Granger's Muggle Studies class and attempting to write up lesson plans. I unpacked for both myself and Draco and went running every chance I got. I didn't sleep well at night, and still felt like I was missing something important. Consequently, I was in something of a dither on the morning of my first class, especially because I didn't have any of the black robes that I had seen all the other teachers wear. Did I not count as a real teacher yet or something?

I was trying to decide what to wear when someone knocked on the door. I hastily pulled a bathrobe over my pajamas and opened the door on Miss Granger. She held out a pile of folded black material.

"Here are your teaching robes," she said. "They cover pretty much everything, but Professor McGonagall likes us to be presentable underneath as well."

"Thank you," I said, taking the robes.

"Oh, I have these for you, too," Granger said, digging in her pocket. She held out a pair of glasses to me. "They're just plastic. I just thought they'd make you look...well, more like a teacher. When I started teaching I found that students gave me more trouble when I wore contacts."

"That's a good idea," I said, putting the glasses on. "How do I look?"

"Very scholarly," Granger said, giving me a real smile for the first time. "I think the overall effect will be better with teaching robes rather than a bathrobe, though. Do you need anything else? I could come just for the first class if you like. In case they start acting up."

"No, I think I'll be fine," I said. "Thank you, though."

"Alright, then," she replied. "Good luck."

"Thanks," I said, and closed the door.

I put the robes on over a black skirt and a button-down white shirt. With my hair pulled back in a tight bun and my new glasses on, I thought I looked presentable. I didn't look like a student, at least, and that was what I was aiming for. I grabbed the bag I had packed with my lesson plans and notes and headed out the door. When I got the classroom, I took a deep breath and entered.

I set my bag on the desk and observed the faces in front of me. There were about fifteen boys and girls of ages ranging from thirteen to eighteen. Luckily, there were only three or so that were my age. I looked around, seeing expressions of admiration and awe (from the boys) and evil glares (from the girls). But in every face I saw a hint of speculation, as if they were all wondering how long I would last and how much they could get away with.

"My name, as you probably all know by now, is Professor Malcolm," I said. "Yes, I am American, and, no, I am not a witch. I can, however, move things without touching them and set things on fire. So if you were planning on reading magazines or passing notes in my class--" A note that was being passed between two fifth-year girls abruptly burst into flame. "Think again. I will not tolerate rudeness, immaturity, or disrespect. If you act like adults, I will treat you like adults. Understood?" The class murmured affirmatively. "Now, one important aspect of Muggle life that I think has been ignored is Muggle pastimes. Granted, a lot of Muggles don't do anything beside watch TV. But some—myself included—actually do have hobbies. And the most common hobby is sports. For the next few weeks we will learn about several Muggle sports, including soccer—football, I mean—basketball, baseball, track and field, American football, field hockey, and others. We will probably spend the most time on football, because it's the most popular Muggle sport in the world. Now, I'm assuming that at least some of you are Muggle born and are taking this course for an easy A. Or whatever the British equivalent is. Do any of you play football?" A few hands went up. One was a girl. "Excellent. That will make things easier when we start playing. Yes, Miss--" I looked at my attendance sheet. "Cooper?"

"We'll actually get to play football?" Miss Cooper asked, sounding dubious but hopeful.

"Of course," I said. "Not today. On Wednesday, maybe. Today we'll cover the basics—the field, the rules, the equipment, the positions, etc. Now, a soccer field—or a pitch, I think you call it here—are usually between a hundred and a hundred and ten meters long and between sixty and seventy meters wide. It looks like this..."

I turned to the blackboard and drew a soccer field, using a pointer to indicate the various lines and their purposes. I drew little X's to denote players and their positions. I gave them the basic rules—you know, no hands except on a throw in (and except for the goalie), no tackling from behind, no elbows. I then explained about offsides and some of the more obscure rules, like when you can pass back to a goalie and what sort of foul will get you a direct vs. indirect kick. They looked interested—they took notes, at least—and at the end of the class, I felt like I had done a decent job.

"Don't forget to wear clothes you can play in on Wednesday," I said as they packed up. "And if you have soccer shoes, bring them."

After class, I slipped away to the forest—which was technically Forbidden—and changed. I explored and ran until it took the edge off my restlessness. At lunch, Granger congratulated me as she passed by my seat. She said a few of her students—most notably Miss Cooper—were thrilled that they were going to actually play.

"I must say, I'm impressed that you would go so far as to do a practical application of the lesson," she said. "Are you going to have the Muggle born students teach the others?"

"I don't understand," I said, frowning in confusion. "Why would I have the students teach?"

"Well, are you going to—oh," Granger said, blushing. "You mean you know how to play football?"

I laughed. "I've been playing soccer since I could walk."

"Oh, my. I'm sorry, you just seem kind of—well, I just thought girls who play football are more--"

"Beefy?" I suggested with a smile. "Nah. I was the captain of my high school team."

"Oh," she said, still somewhat pink. "Do you intend to teach them all the sports?"

"Not all," I said. "I don't have the right equipment and I'm not that familiar with all of them. I can do track and field, though. I can probably set up hurtles somehow, and some of the field events. It would be fun for them to run races, at least, don't you think?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Granger said heartily. "I could probably help you get what you need, I think. Why don't we meet after dinner to discuss it?"

"Alright," I said. "The library?"

Granger spent a lot of time in the library.

"No, I was thinking the seventh floor," Granger said. "By the statue of Barnabas the Barmy." Seeing my blank look, she laughed and said, "The library, then. Eightish?"

"Sure."

I spent the rest of the day exploring the castle and reading in my room. After dinner, I went to the library a little early to see what it had to offer. I found the fiction section and found several adventure novels that looked promising. I then wandered over to the reference section, thinking it could be beneficial to do some background reading.

I skimmed the titles and stopped at one called If At First You Don't Succeed, Rise, Rise Again: The Rise and Fall (and Rise Again) of You-Know-Who. Was 'You-Know-Who' the same person as Draco's Dark Lord? I sat down with my back against the shelves and opened the book. As I read, I came to the conclusion that they probably were the same person. His name was Lord Voldemort, but everyone called him You-Know-Who or the Dark Lord or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named because they were afraid of him. It seemed rather silly to me.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I read about how Voldemort was defeated a little more than twenty years ago by an infant boy, who now bore a lightning bolt scar on his forehead from the encounter. The Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter. My cousin, the idiotic jackass. I read about how he battled Voldemort in his first year of Hogwarts, saving the Philosopher's Stone, whatever that was, and again in his second, fourth, fifth, and seventh years. And survived every time I was confused about how he battled Voldemort in his second year since, according to the book, he rose again in Potter's fourth year, but who was I to argue?

"There you are," Granger said, peeking around the corner of the shelf.

I looked up, startled. "Oh, sorry, what time is it?"

"Just a little after eight," Granger said. "Don't worry, I was working in here anyway. What are you reading?"

I showed her the title. "How did Potter fight Voldemort in his second year if he rose again in Potter's fourth year?"

"It wasn't actually Voldemort," Granger explained. "It was a...a memory of Voldemort, imprisoned in a diary. Part of Voldemort's spirit."

"Oh," I said, frowning at the book. "I didn't know I had a famous cousin."

"He didn't know he was famous until he came to Hogwarts," Granger said. I thought she sounded the slightest bit defensive.

"He's welcome to it," I shrugged. "I wouldn't want people paying attention to me all the time."

"I should think you would be used to it," she snorted.

I thought of telling her that being pretty allowed you to be almost invisible. That people assumed beautiful women were just that: beautiful and nothing else. I thought of telling her that this made life easier. Let people assume what they will; misconceptions can lend you an advantage. The less people know about you, the better. In light of this sentiment, I didn't tell her any of that. Instead, I said what she expected to hear.

"It's a different sort of attention entirely," I said smugly.

"I can see why you're married to Malfoy," Granger muttered.

"Isn't it obvious?" I retorted, mimicking her accent. Then I dropped it. "So are you and Potter together?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no," Granger said. "We've been best friends forever. And you can call him Harry, you know. He is your cousin."

"Cousin or not, I've met him once," I said, though that really wasn't the reason. After all, I'd been on excellent terms with Kallias from the start. I just didn't like Potter.

"Nonsense, you see him every day at mealtimes. You should get to know him," Granger urged me. "He's a good person. And he doesn't have any other family."

"I think not," I said disdainfully. "And even if I felt like making the effort—which I don't—I doubt he would appreciate it. I'm married to the enemy, remember?"

"Not the enemy anymore," Granger reminded me.

"I don't think they got that memo," I snorted. "They seem to hate each other."

"Oh, they do," Granger said. She sounded amused. "I swear, whenever they're together, it's like time rewinds ten years."

"Was he really that different?" I asked, curious in spite of myself. "Neither of you recognized him when we first came here. It seems kind of odd to forget your arch-nemesis."

"Very different," Granger agreed. "We haven't seen him since he left school. And back then he was...well, to be quite honest, he looked like a rodent."

I laughed incredulously. I was too surprised to be offended. Draco? The idea that he was ever anything but gorgeous was simply laughable.

"He did," Granger said, almost maliciously. "He looked like an albino lab rat. All skinny and pale. Even his hair was almost white. I don't know if he bleached it then or dyes it now, but it can't be natural."

"You'd be surprised," I said, momentarily diverted. "My hair was blond when I was little and it got darker as I grew up. In any case, Draco would never resort to coloring his hair."

"Maybe he's grown up," Granger said with a shrug. "If you had a hand in that, I commend you. I didn't think it was possible."

"Believe me, he was very grown up when I met him," I informed her coolly.

We walked in silence for some time until we came to a statue—Barnabas the Barmy, I suppose. Granger stopped and turned to me.

"Now, what you need to do is walk up and down this corridor three times while thinking about what you need to teach the Muggle-Studies course," she said. "You might feel a little silly, but it will work."

"What will work? What's supposed to happen?"

"You'll see."

Feeling a little bit more than silly, I walked up and down concentrating on soccer and track. Was something happening? Was it working? I finished my third 'lap' and stopped in front of Granger, who pointed to a door behind me that I was sure hadn't been there before.

"The Room of Requirement," Granger told me, opening the door. "It gives you whatever you need. Oh, my. What is all this stuff?"

"Hurtles," I said happily. "Javelines, shot-puts, disks, a high-jump mat and standards—oh, wow, there's even pole vaulting equipment—bags of sand, measuring tape, stop-watches."

I poked around in the corners and found soccer balls, pinnies, cones, rule books for various sports, and other useful sports paraphernalia like waterbottles. Everything was tucked into what little available space there was—the pole vault and high jump mats took up most of the room. Speaking of which...

"How are we going to get this stuff outside?" I asked. "I don't think it will fit through the door."

"I'll shrink it," Granger said with a blithe shrug, reminding me how out of my depth I was.

"Oh. Well, thank you," I said awkwardly. "Should we wait? I won't be starting track for at least a few weeks."

"Yes, we'll wait," Granger agreed. "Don't you want the footballs, though?"

"Oh, yes," I said, and found a ball bag.

"One more thing," Granger said. "I would rather you didn't tell anyone about this."

"Not even my husband?" I asked with a frown.

"He already knows about it," Granger said, scowling. "But almost all of the people who originally knew about it are dead or gone."

"I won't tell."

"Good."

When I had everything I needed, Granger and I went our separate ways. I made sure I paid attention to where I was going on the way to my room; I wanted to be able to come back. I wanted to start playing the piano again. I wondered if it would magically produce Draco if I concentrated very hard. Then again, that might prove a little inconvenient for him.

On that less-than-comforting thought, I retired to my rooms and fell into a light, fitful sleep in which I dreamed all manner of uncomfortable things. I woke up the next morning out of sorts and didn't feel like going to breakfast at all. So when an owl swooped through my bedroom window, I was a little surprised. And by "a little surprised", I mean I screamed like a little girl and fell off the bed.

I snatched up the letter the owl had left and eagerly ripped off the ribbon binding the parchment. It was from Draco. He was fine aside from occasional homicidal urges (he was with Potter). He couldn't tell me everything, but they were on a mission to stop an assassination attempt on the Minister of Magic. Things weren't going as well as they had hoped, so he probably wouldn't be back for another week. My heart fell as I read this and I crumpled up the letter and chucked it against the wall. It made an entirely unsatisfying sort of "pat" sound as it hit the wall. Not even a decent "thump".

My bad mood remained throughout the day, though I did cheer up a little when I finally got the chance to speak with Gabrielle. We met in the library and pretended that I was helping her with her homework while we were actually talking about where I had been and why I was here. In French, of course. She said she knew of a room that not many people knew about on the seventh floor where we could talk without being suspicious. I agreed without reservation. Hey, I hadn't told her about it.

So we met at the Room of Requirement every day after dinner to talk and relax. It felt good to have a friend. Granger and I were on cordial, even friendly terms, but there was also a sense of distance between us. I liked Gabrielle much better. She could sing, too. She was a second soprano to my first. So we would sing together or she would teach me things about the wizarding world or sometimes we would just read. It was nice.

Then one evening, a little over a week after I arrived at Hogwarts, something extremely unfortunate happened. I was walking back to my rooms from the Room of Requirement when I felt a sharp pain in my belly, almost like menstrual cramps but more acute. Concerned, I tried to examine myself using magic but found that I couldn't. When I tried to reach for the magic it was like it just slipped through my fingers.

Oh, my God, I thought dizzily. That was why I'd been feeling so strange and not sleeping well. How could I have been so stupid? I had gotten used to have old magic around me like a blanket. A big, fuzzy, comforting blanky. And now it was gone—or, if it wasn't gone, I couldn't get to it. How could I have been so oblivious? And did that mean...oh, shit. I had used my old magic to keep myself from getting pregnant. Oh, fuck.

I have passed out exactly twice in my life. The first time was when my father died. That time, the worst that happened was that, well, my father died. But, physically, the worst that happened was that I knocked my head and got a mild concussion. The second time—this time—I passed out not because I suddenly realized that I had no old magic and was therefore about a million times weaker than I should have been, but because I realized I might be pregnant. I wasn't even sure: just the possibility was enough. And this time, I was unfortunately standing at the top of a very large flight of stairs.

When I came to, I was in a hospital bed with an old, matronly woman leaning over me with a cup of something smelly to drink. I sniffed cautiously, but it was nothing more than chamomile with honey. I accepted it gratefully and sipped while I inspected the nurse before me.

"How are you feeling, dearie?" she asked, smiling. "You took quite a tumble!"

"I feel alright, I guess," I said, looking around. "Where am I?"

"In the school infirmary, dear," she replied, patting my hand. "I'm Madame Pomfrey. You call me Poppy, though, there's a dear. I've heard all about you from students and teachers alike. I'm so glad to finally meet you, Professor. Are you enjoying Hogwarts? Here, eat this."

I took the slab of chocolate she practically shoved at me and nibbled cautiously. It was good. Poppy Pomfrey was talking again, having apparently forgot that she asked me a question.

"You broke your ankle and your arm and bruised a few ribs and concussed yourself, but I took care of all that. You might still have headaches for a few days, though. Luckily, no harm was done to the baby, though I suppose it isn't big enough for any harm to be done yet, is it?" She stared curiously as I choked on my tea, narrowly avoiding drooling all over the sheets. "Are you quite alright, dear?"

"I'm—I'm pregnant?" I choked, feeling faint again. "You're sure?"

"Quite sure," Pomfrey said, beaming. "Isn't that exciting?"

Several words came to mind—most of them with four letters—but 'exciting' was definitely not one of them. I took a deep breath and counted to ten before releasing it. Okay. Okay. Wizards probably had some simple, easy method of abortion. A potion or something.

"Is there anything to be done?" I asked.

"Done?" Pomfrey asked, looking confused. "Well, I suppose I could give you some pamphlets on pregnancy, but implantation only just occurred. You really don't have to worry about anything yet."

"No," I said impatiently. "I mean is there anything to be done to get rid of it."

Madame Pomfrey gasped, scandalized. "Get rid of it! My dear young woman, how could you even contemplate such a thing? Get rid of it! I realize it is something of a shock, but really! If you didn't want children, you should have taken proper precautions. Get rid of your baby? What would your husband say?"

Jesus, what would my husband say? I felt sick. There was something living in me. Eating away at my insides. It would grow and I would get fat and heavy and weighed down. My feet would hurt and I'd get weird cravings and Draco would be so excited about a baby that he wouldn't see me anymore. He would forget about me and I'd have to be fat and disgusting all by myself. Fat! Me? I couldn't be fat, I was perfect! Perfect, damn it, and no way was I going to let some nasty little tapeworm ruin my body.

I didn't want a baby. I didn't want a kid hanging on me every second of the day, whining and crying and—and sucking on me. And then it would grow and turn into a complete brat and then a moody preteen and then an uncontrollable teenager. Oh, my God, I was still a teenager. And the next twenty years or so of my life were over. Gone. I was sentenced to twenty years with a screaming, crying, puking, shitting, pissing ball and chain. I would be almost forty before I could call my life my own again.

"I've taken care of all your injuries," Pomfrey said. "Here are you clothes. You're free to go."

"Thank you," I said dazedly. "I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said coldly, and bustled away.

I wandered back to my rooms in a haze of disbelief and despair. Once there, I stood staring at the fireplace until I felt a cool hand on the back of my neck. I turned to see Artemis regarding me with compassion in her eyes. I blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment.

"There's nothing you can do?" I asked finally.

"No," she said. "Not here. You could ask your husband to bring you back to Greece, but--"

"Then he would know that I'm p-pregnant," I finished, struggling to get the last word out without bursting into tears. "What am I going to do?"

"There isn't anything you can do," Artemis told me. "I've already asked Brighid if she would lend a hand, but there really isn't any reason for you not to have a baby. You're young, healthy, strong...a baby poses no threat to you physically. You have a loving, caring—rich—husband. You will have no problems providing for the child. Brighid refused."

"Who is Brighid?" I asked wearily.

"A Celtic goddess of fertility," Artemis told me. "I'm a goddess of the hunt—of maidenhood. I know why you don't want a baby. I know you're not ready for it. But Brighid is rather more conservative, I'm afraid." Artemis stroked my hair lightly. "I wish I could help you."

"Aren't there—I don't know, herbs or something?" I asked desperately.

"Yes," Artemis said. "But to get them you would need to tell your husband what you want them for. You are going to tell him that you're pregnant, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said miserably. I laughed humorlessly. "He'll be thrilled."

Artemis regarded me solemnly for a moment, then kissed my cheek and disappeared.

I heard her voice whisper in my ear, "Have faith."

I sat down on the couch and began to shake.

The next few days were without a doubt the worst of my entire life to date. Now that I knew I couldn't reach the old magic, the anxious, nagging feeling that I was missing something went away, but it was replaced with the harrowing knowledge that it was gone. I wasn't sure which was worse.

On top of that, there was of course the knowledge that I was pregnant. I did my best to put it out of my mind and sometimes I almost succeeded—my Muggle Studies class was really quite fun. But sometimes I would find myself paralyzed with fear and unable to breath. I went running every chance I got as if I could somehow shake it loose if I ran enough.

Draco came and went—he had to take Granger to Malfoy Manor and to Greenwood to look for some Dark texts that she needed. Something to do with the Horcruxes, I think. He stayed only two days before leaving again. I couldn't tell him. I tried, but nothing came out. Then he was back a few days later and I couldn't tell him because it was the full moon. Then he left the next morning and was gone for a week and I thought I would go crazy if I didn't tell someone.

In fact, I sort of did go crazy. For a few minutes, anyway. I was in class, discussing the merits of a four-four-two lineup when all of a sudden I was struck by a wave of nausea so severe I had to rush out of the classroom. I sprinted down the hall, hoping to make it to the bathroom, but no such luck. I puked all over the hallway on my hands and knees and collapsed against the wall, sobbing. Which was how Hermione Granger found me about ten minutes later: eyes and nose streaming, covered in vomit, and shaking uncontrollably.

"Malcolm—are you alright?" Granger knelt in front of me, hands on my shoulders. "Are you ill?"

"I'm not—sick," I replied between sobs, clutching at my belly. "I wish I were. I wish—"

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" she said bluntly, cleaning up the mess with a wave of her wand. She looked down at me with a mixture of sternness and understanding and sighed. "Accidents can happen."

"If I were one of your students you'd be saying something completely different," I accused her, hiccuping. "You'd tell me that I'm too young to have sex and I should have taken precautions at least and I have only myself to blame and that if I'm not ready for a baby I'm not ready to have sex."

Granger opened her mouth as if to protest, then shut it.

"Perhaps," she admitted. "But you're not one of my students. You're my colleague and a married woman, even if you are a little young to be having a baby."

"A little young," I repeated, laughing somewhat hysterically. "Granger, how old am I?"

"I don't know," Granger said, startled.

"Take a guess," I insisted.

"I don't know," Granger said again, looking exasperated. "Twenty one--twenty two, maybe?"

I laughed, pressing my face into my hands. I imagine I looked more than a little unhinged. I looked up at Granger, who had a concerned expression on her face. At least, I thought she looked concerned; she was kind of blurry.

"Your colleague," I said despairingly. "This is ridiculous. Oh, God, how did this happen to me--"

"Why is it ridiculous?" Granger asked rationally, trying to make me feel better, I suppose. "You're not a witch, but you've done quite well, all things considered--"

"I'm eighteen!" I cried, sobbing even more forcefully. "I turned eighteen in February, for Christ's sake. Two of my students are older than me. I can't have a baby—I don't know what to do. I don't—don't--"

Granger's shocked silence was covered up by my sobs. I felt like my insides were coming out my nose, I was crying so hard. I felt so small and alone—so helpless. For the first time, I almost—almost—wished that I had never come to England, never met Draco. I wished I had never been bitten. Then my father would still be alive and we would be celebrating my acceptance to Princeton—the payoff for all my years of being smart and athletic and talented. I would be looking forward to four years of college with other creepily accomplished people like myself and a long, successful career in foreign affairs. I wouldn't be sitting in a dank, dark, chilly corridor covered in tears and vomit wishing I could tear my guts out so I wouldn't have to have a baby.

"Come on," Granger said gently. "Let's get you in bed. I'll take over your class."

"No," I said forcefully, shaking her hand off. More calmly, I continued, "If you could clean my robes, I can handle the class myself."

Granger regarded me for a moment and then did as I asked. I accepted the handkerchief she offered and dried my eyes. I took a few deep breaths, straightened my hair, and put my fake glasses back on.

"How do I look?" I asked.

"Fine," Granger said. She looked troubled. "But I don't know if you should--"

"Miss Granger," I interrupted. "I may be younger than you thought, but I am not a child anymore. I wish I were, but I'm not. Thank you for your help."

I turned away, walked back to class, and finished the lesson. Then I went to my rooms and collapsed on the bed. I didn't move for hours. When I missed dinner, a house elf named Dobby brought me some sandwiches. I thanked him absently and didn't move. I felt numb. Cold and numb. But after so many days of internal turmoil, I welcomed it.

I suppose you could call it a blessing that Draco arrived that night, while I was still lying on the bed in the same position that I'd been in for the past six hours. At least he hadn't been there to witness my breakdown. He entered the dark room carefully and silently, as if he didn't want to disturb me. He thought I was asleep.

"Hello, Draco," I said, and he started slightly.

"Hello," he said, leaning over to the bed and kissing my forehead. "I didn't realize you were awake."

"Draco, I'm pregnant."

I was surprised at how easy it was. It just slipped out, as if I didn't have the strength to hold it in anymore. Draco froze and then sat down beside me.

"I thought you said you had it covered." He didn't sound accusing, just puzzled.

"I used old magic," I said numbly. "I can't use it here."

"But Christo said--"

"I know. So did Kallias. I don't know why I can't use it."

I waited impassively for his reaction. It didn't matter. I was going to have a baby and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it—unless Draco decided he didn't want a baby either and offered to get me abortive medicines. Fat chance.

"You're going to have a baby," Draco muttered. "This is—unexpected."

"To say the least," I replied, feeling a small flicker of wry amusement underneath the layer of ice that seemed to have coated my mind.

"A baby," Draco murmured. He placed a hand on my stomach and began to smile, then to laugh. "A baby!"

"Draco," I protested as he swept me into his arms and spun me around. "What's the matter with you? This is a terrible time to have a—to be pregnant. What if something happens to you? I can't do this on my own!"

"Nothing is going to happen to me," he said confidently, hugging me tightly. "I won't let you down. Not when you're going to have a baby."

God, I wished he would stop saying that word. The ice shattered and once again I was barraged by fear and dread. It was already starting. Now it was about the tapeworm, not me.

"Ari," he said softly. "I know you're frightened. I know we didn't plan on having children so soon, but everything will be alright. I'll take care of you. Both of you."

I didn't say anything but rested my head against Draco's chest, listening to his heart beat. I knew he would have no trouble providing for us. That wasn't the point. The point was that I simply wasn't ready to do this. I sighed and slumped against my husband. Draco's presence took the edge off of my panic and softened the wild despair into something like resignation. I wasn't ready, I didn't want to, and I was scared shitless by the very idea, but I had no choice. I had to. I might as well make the best of it. Draco was thrilled and I had no doubt that he would be a wonderful father.

But what kind of mother would I be? What kind of mother doesn't want her child? If I was going to do this, I had to stop thinking of it as—well, an it—and accept it as my child. My child, not a parasite. Not a burden. Not a twenty-year sentence. My child. My baby. I made myself say it over and over again in my head until the words ceased to incite panic.

After I told Draco, he made an effort to be around more, but he was still gone more often than not over the next few weeks. I puked almost every morning and couldn't keep much down at all. No one acted differently toward me, so I assumed Granger hadn't told anyone about my age or my condition. I eventually told Gabrielle but swore her to absolute secrecy on both counts. Even so, rumors began flying around the school that I had been having an affair with Professor Slughorn, who did absolutely nothing to quell such rumors.

I wasn't surprised that people knew or at least speculated that I was pregnant. I wasn't showing yet, but it was hard to explain why I sometimes turned green and had to rush out of the room. Once I didn't even make it to the door and had to use the wastebasket in the classroom. It was one of the more humiliating experiences in my life.

I started spending a lot of time in the library, helping Granger research. I got the feeling that she didn't really want to involve me but needed all the help she could get. Potter sometimes helped as well. He made a point of being scrupulously polite. I did the same. All the same, there was some wall between us. Whether it was the fact that I was married to Draco or that our mothers were sisters, I didn't know. We just sat in silence and researched.

I was puzzled by the topic—we were looking for magical military artifacts. Helmets, in particular. I made notes on whatever I came across, but nothing seemed very useful. One day, we were finding even less than usual so took a break. Granger led the way down to the kitchens, where about a gazillion house elves bustled about, piling our plates with goodies. I thought now might be a good time to ask her something I'd been wondering about for ages.

"Granger," I said. "What were you and Potter and that other person doing in Greece a couple of months ago?"

Granger choked on her pumpkin juice—who came up with that brilliant idea, anyway?--and stared at me, mouth hanging open in shock.

"How do you know we were in Greece?"

"I saw you," I said. "You were looking in some underwater caves near my grandparents' house."

"There were no houses on that island," Granger said flatly. "And the island was miles and miles offshore."

I shrugged. "I swim a lot. Does it have something to do with what we're researching?"

"Yes," Granger said after a moment. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you. We were looking for one of the Horcruxes. And we found it in one of those caves. It's a helmet. We haven't put it on, of course, but it has some sort of purpose aside from holding Voldemort's soul."

"Is that what a Horcrux is?" I asked. "A container for a soul?"

"Sort of," Granger said. "Voldemort made seven Horcruxes—each one with a little bit of his soul. It's terribly, terribly dark magic because not only does it rip the soul apart, it requires a murder to provide the necessary power. And Voldemort did it not once but seven times. He was obsessed with immortality."

"So you need to destroy the Horcruxes before you can destroy him," I said.

"Before Harry can destroy him," Granger corrected me. "There's a prophecy that says Harry and Voldemort can't coexist—one has to kill the other."

"Prophecies," I muttered. "I wouldn't put much store in them. I had one and it was complete garbage."

"There was a prophecy about you?" Granger asked dubiously.

"Not about me, no," I replied. "I went to Apollo's Oracle in Delos to ask what I would meet here in England and she started babbling about life in death and making bargains and returning some lost object to its rightful owner and other nonsense."

"What did she say, exactly?" Granger asked, whipping out a quill and a piece of parchment.

"Hold on," I said, thinking back. "Well, she said 'Life in death' would await me and--"

"That's what she said? 'Life in death', not 'life and death' or 'life--"

"Life in death," I said a little irritably.

"Alright," Granger said, unperturbed. "The wording is very important, you know. Go on."

"She told me to return 'that which was stolen'--or lost, I can't remember—and to regain a key that was lost 'in the depths of mystery'. I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

"Is that it?" Granger asked, scribbling madly.

"Yes—no, wait, there was one more thing," I said, trying to remember. "She said I had to strike a bargain with the Rich One and that—that to bargain I had to have something to trade."

"The Rich One?" Granger asked. "Who's that?"

I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Think," she urged me. "Malfoy is bringing in people with some sort of 'old magic' that supposedly has something to do with ancient gods. Could the Rich One--"

"Wait," I said. "Draco is bringing Christo?"

"Oh, right, he's your cousin," Granger said absently, staring at her notes. "Yes, he is."

"He didn't tell me that," I said, scowling.

"It was only decided last night," Granger said. "Could the Rich One refer to something in Greek mythology, d'you think?"

"Of course," I said, smacking my forehead. "The Rich One is another name for Hades. The god of the dead. But that doesn't make any sense. How could I strike a bargain with Hades?"

"Maybe it doesn't literally mean Hades," Granger suggested. "Maybe it just means you'll bargain your way out of death."

"Maybe," I said, though I didn't think so. Something tugged at my brain. What was I missing?

"Well, we should probably get back to work," Granger said, tucking the parchment away. "I want to look at Herodotus' description of Spartan armor again."

"Wait--" I blurted. "Granger, what color is this helmet?"

"Black, why?"

"Oh, dear," I said worriedly. "And you said it seems to have some purpose aside from being a Horcrux?"

"Yes, but I can't very well put it on, can I?" Granger said impatiently.

"Couldn't you put it on something else?" I asked. "Like a statue or something?"

"I suppose we could try that," Granger said, looking surprised. "Why?"

"I think...if I'm right..." I stopped. "We need to try it right away."

Granger looked at me curiously but led me to her rooms. I waited outside while she got the helmet and we went up to the Room of Requirement. We entered on a room full of manikins in warrior poses. Despite the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, I had to laugh.

"Alright," Granger said. "Here goes nothing."

She settled the helmet on one of the statues and it disappeared. Granger poked the air cautiously.

"Invisible," she said. "Interesting." She glanced at me. "What's wrong?"

"I know what that helmet is," I said. "It's not Spartan. It's much older than that. Much, much older."

"What are you on about?"

"It belongs to Hades," I said. "The god of the Underworld."

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Granger asked, frowning in annoyance. "I would like serious suggestions, if you please."

"I'm completely serious," I assured her. "You found that helmet in Greece, didn't you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't prove--"

"Look it up," I suggested. "Hades had a black helmet that made the wearer invisible. He lent it to heroes sometimes to help them on quests. If Voldemort wanted to live forever, how better to spit in death's eye than to use Hades' helmet as one of his Horcruxes?"

"That is a wonderful theory," Granger said, rolling her eyes, "except that it assumes that Hades is real."

"Another non-believer," a voice interrupted. "How tiresome."

I looked around and saw a very large, very fluffy, very ugly ginger cat with a squashed nose. It perched on the shoulders of one of the manikins, staring at us.

"Hermes," I said disgustedly. "First a monkey, now this. Have you no pride? At least the monkey was cute."

"Are you talking to Crookshanks?" Granger asked uncertainly.

"If Crookshanks is the cat, then yes," I said. "But he's not really a cat right now—or not just a cat, I should say."

"What are you talking about?" Granger snapped. "Of course he's a cat."

"He's also me," Hermes declared. "Hermes. I can't reveal myself to you in my true form, so I've had to borrow your cat. Hope you don't mind. He doesn't."

"This is crazy," Granger muttered. "I've been working too hard."

"You haven't been working hard enough," Hermes retorted. "It didn't even occur to you to look to the myths for the answer."

"Myths aren't real," Granger cried, frustrated. "And neither are gods."

"Oh, I'm sorry, does your cat talk to you often?" Hermes replied scathingly. "If so, I'm sure I can find a suitably mundane specimen to possess."

"Give me one more piece of evidence," Granger said. "Irrefutable evidence."

"What, a talking cat isn't good enough for you?"

Hermes hopped down from the manikin and twined around her legs. Oh, dear. The cat—now just a cat—sat back and watched his mistress curiously as she twitched and convulsed. A more mundane specimen, indeed, I thought wryly.

"Think this is good enough for her?" Hermes asked me with Granger's mouth. "I didn't want to resort to this, but some people just refuse to see what's right in front of them. Isn't that right, sweet-cheeks?"

Granger appeared to pinch her own cheek. Abruptly, Hermes was back in the cat and Granger fell to the floor, gasping. She was pale and sweaty. She looked like she might throw up. I backed away just in case.

"Believe me now?" Hermes asked. Granger nodded. "Good. Now, you're on the right track. Hades' helmet has been lost for centuries, floating about in the ocean. Hades thinks I lost it, but I'm certain it was Athena's fault. Or Perseus'. Anyone could have picked it up, as Lord Moldy-wart or whatever he calls himself has shown us. Anyway, I'm sure Hades would like it back."

"Could he destroy it?" Granger asked.

"Why would he want to do that?" Hermes exclaimed indignantly. "He's been on my case since the Trojan War about the damn thing."

"Could he undo the magic that makes it a Horcrux?" I clarified.

"Now you're talking," Hermes commended me. "Yes, he most certainly can. You just need to get it to him."

"I just need to..." I paled. "You're saying I have to die?"

"Ariadne, really," Hermes said reproachfully. "I'm saying nothing of a sort. Weren't you listening to the Oracle at all? Life in death. Odysseus did it. Orpheus did it. You can do it, too. There's even an entrance here in Britain. It was taken from Italy, I believe. Just chiseled out of the mountain. So crude."

"So you're saying I have to go give Hades his helmet back," I said hollowly. "In the Underworld."

"Yes, that's exactly it," Hermes said. "Very good."

"You don't think that's asking a lot?"

"The Underworld will be the easy part," Hermes told me. "Once you're in, I'll be right there beside you. Actually getting to the entrance will be rather more difficult, I imagine."

"And where is this entrance?" I asked wearily.

"You weren't listening to the oracle, were you?" Hermes reprimanded, as if he were accusing me of sleeping in class. "She said it quite clearly. Honestly, Ariadne. Must I do everything for you?"

With that, he disappeared. I turned to Granger and sighed. Being a mature adult, I did not stick my tongue out or point and laugh or say 'I told you so'. I did however, remark casually,

"I hate it when he does that."

Granger nodded weakly.

"Do you have any idea what he was talking about?" I asked. "About an entrance to the Underworld in Britain?"

"I need a drink," Granger muttered. "I never drink. Merlin, I can't think about this right now. Meet me here tomorrow, alright?"

"Make good choices," I called after her, though I was as shocked as she was.

Alright, maybe not quite as shocked. I was, however, more than slightly concerned. Traveling to the Underworld? There was a reason that only a handful of people in the history of the world have done it. It was the Underworld, for Christ's sake. The land of the dead. And not just the Greek land of the dead. The land of the dead. Different cultures might have different names for it, but it was the same thing, really. Death is universal.

"I think I need a bath, too," I said to the cat, who was industriously licking his paws.

The next morning, Granger and I met in the Room of Requirement during lunch. The Room thoughtfully provided us with comfy chairs, sandwiches, a pitcher of water, and several books with titles like How to Get to Where You Shouldn't Be and The Cat Burglar's Guide to Breaking and Entering.

"So," I said. "Have you recovered enough to think about where this entrance is?"

"As long as I don't think about the gods part too much," Granger replied. "He said the Oracle told you where it was. So let's go over what she said again." She took out the piece of parchment she'd taken notes on the day before. "Okay, so we know what 'life in death' means. We know who the Rich One is and what was stolen. All that remains is this key that was lost in the 'depths of mystery' and a bargain to be made. I suppose you have to bargain for the key with the helmet. But what is the key?"

"I don't suppose there's a door somewhere that you need to open?" I asked half-heartedly.

"No," Granger said, thinking. "'The depths of mystery'. Hmm. Maybe the key is a piece of information."

"Is there anything you've been trying to figure out?" I asked. "This prophecy or riddle or whatever you want to call it seems to be very case-specific."

"Well, I've been trying to figure out how to destroy the bracelet," Hermione said. "But I don't see how Hades would know."

"Maybe he has something that could destroy it," I suggested. "A magic hammer or something."

Granger gave me a Look.

"Well, Thor had a magic hammer," I said defensively. "Anyway, Hermes said the entrance was imported from Italy. So it can't be very large, can it?"

"That's right," Granger said. "He said it was chiseled out of the mountainside. So it's made of stone. It could be a stone door or a portal of some kind. Or maybe a portkey."

"Lost in the depths of mystery," I said thoughtfully. "That's the only part that could possibly tell us where the entrance is. Hey, what if I'm not supposed to bargain for the key after all? What if we need to find the key to the entrance?"

"That's an idea," Granger sighed. "Except we don't know where either of them are."

"Maybe we're thinking too abstractly," I said. "Maybe 'mystery' is the location. Is there a place somewhere in Britain whose name means 'mystery' or 'mysterious', maybe? In, I don't know, Gaelic or something?"

"Not that I--" Granger gasped. "Oh, my God. That's it! Malcolm, you're a genius! I can't believe I missed that, it was staring me right in the face--"

"Are you planning on sharing whatever it is you've figured out?" I asked a little irritably.

"Oh, yes, of course," Granger said, calming down a little. "I know where the entrance is. Oh, it was so obvious. Why didn't I--"

"Granger!"

"It's in London," she said. "In the Department of Mysteries."

oh, dun dun DUNN. Hope I didn't freak you out with Ari's...um, reluctance...to have a baby

shai