Violet continues to exude cold fury against Adriana for the rest of the week. It's the next Thursday before I witness a halfway civil interaction between them: Adriana asking Violet to pass the brined sea cucumber in Potions class. For my part, I continue to feign ignorance to the quarrel. It makes things easier, though Vi and I do exchange a few choice words about our housemate during our evening forays through the castle.

Part of me wishes that Violet hadn't stood up for me in the first place. It draws attention to me, and there's a hard little knot in my stomach when I think of the friendships I've cost her. Not only Adriana but Daphne is giving her the shoulder. Am I really worth the exchange?

It seems so, to her, because Violet is ferociously unbothered by the whole thing. She gives a contemptuous laugh the one time I venture to bring it up.

"Adriana? Don't worry about her, Annie. I've been looking for a reason to get her off my back for ages."

I don't really believe this, but I'm interested all the same.

"Why? What does she want from you?"

"Nothing straightforward. It's just…it's the little things. The way she looks at me when she makes a comment about Muggleborns, all hopeful that I'll agree. The way she uses 'we'. Like we're part of some club together just because we're both pureblood."

"In a way, you are," I can't help pointing out. "I mean…you know everyone."

"Not everyone worth knowing," Vi says, nudging me. "Yeah, Annie, if you're asking whether I miss her, the answer's yes. And no. I think I miss who we…who she used to be."

Uncle John notices something is amiss, too. He hails me from his office door one day on my way to dinner.

"Andrea! How are classes?"

"Fine," I say, steps slowing. It's been barely a week since we last had tea together, but the question is written all over him even before-

"Come in for a minute?"

"Sure," I say, just as my stomach growls audibly. John hears it and grins.

"Just for a minute."

A low squeal echoes from the door of his office.

"All right, as long as nothing tries to eat me first."

"They're all in cages, I promise."

I pause, as usual, next to the menagerie. A large portion of Defense Against the Dark Arts consists of dueling and dismantling unfriendly enchantments, but everyone knows that magical creatures are Professor Lupin's specialty. A squat, goblin-looking creature glares balefully at me from behind a large stump in a cage decorated to look like the forest floor - Uncle John always provides his creatures with plentiful space and enrichment, no matter how eager they are to feast on his flesh. Near the window, a couple of doxies hover in a hanging Victorian birdcage, and something that looks suspiciously like an Ashwinder is curled in a curious, obsidian-like box on the window ledge, asleep.

"It's fireproof," says Uncle John, watching me stroke the unfamiliar material. "How'd the Transfiguration test go?"

"As well as could be expected."

"I'm going to assume that's an Outstanding, then."

"You flatter me, Uncle." I point at a pile of knick-knacks sitting on his desk, the most random assortment imaginable."What are these?"

John picks up one of them at random, a small silver top that looks like an ordinary children's toy.

"These? They're a demonstration for my sixth years. You remember the other day in class, when I mentioned one or two useful enchantments that many Aurors use on everyday objects around them?"

"Yes."

"These are some of them. This," he indicates a small compact beside my hand, "is a miniature Foe-Glass. Most of our female Aurors carry one on them at all times-the men too, when they can do so unobtrusively. It's just what it sounds like."

"It shows your enemy's reflection instead of your own?"

"Precisely."

My hand hovers over the compact. "May I…"

"Certainly."

I pry open the compact and look into it. Shadows bumble about. No faces visible, but in the foreground a familiar ponytail catches my eye. I close the mirror again without comment.

"How does it work?"

"Emotional divination, mixed with something along the lines of a homenum revelio spell."

"How about this one?"

"That's a mokeskin pouch," says John, nodding his permission. I pick the thing up. It's like a rough wallet made of a soft, scaled brown material. "I've put a handful of Galleons in there. Give it a go-try to get into it."

I pry into the leathery material, without success. I can hear the coins jingling inside, but there seems no opening to the pouch as well. With a quick glance at Uncle John, I pull out my wand and try Aperta, and then Alohamora. No dice.

I toss the pouch back to him. "So thieves can't get in. But what's the use of it, if you can't, either?"

"Ah, but that's the good part." He winks at me, dumping six or seven gold coins onto the desk without effort. "I can. Useful, no?"

"Extremely," I say, eyebrows raised. "Do I want to know about the box of jelly beans?"

I had my trust shattered on the Hogwarts Express, where I was first introduced to Bertie Bott's. There are some things candy just shouldn't do. Tasting like pickled herring is one of them.

"Useful in extremely limited circumstances. The Weasley brothers developed them. Each bean, when shattered, raises a cloud of fog that behaves similarly to a Shield Charm, if the shield was fragmented and arrayed around you as a loose armor. Magic can't escape, but it can't penetrate, either. If you're outnumbered in a firefight, you simply throw one of these at the ground and wait for your enemies' spells to reflect back at them. The fog takes a couple of minutes to dissipate."

I let out a low whistle. "How strong of hexes can it withstand?"

"Anything nonlethal, at first, though the barrier weakens over time. The spells bounce unpredictably, however. Obviously you don't want to use these when your allies are around."

"You could make a whole career out of this, couldn't you?"

"You can. Some close friends of mine do. They began as a joke shop, can you believe that?"

"Depends on your sense of humor, I guess. So what's that one?" I point at the silver top.

"Similar principle to the Foe-Glass. It spins when your foes draw near. Less useful, because it's less specific, and some wizards can't stand the noise. Here, Annie, you should take it. I've another in my desk somewhere."

"Wow," I say reverently, turning the device in my fingers. "Thank you, Uncle. But…" I'm remembering Adriana's image in the Foe-Glass. "Is there a way to shut it off? For…awhile?"

John tilts his head. "The point of these objects is to be always prepared, Andrea. Make a habit of shutting off your precautions, and they won't be there when you need them. Not, of course, that I expect an eleven-year-old to need them, but it wouldn't be the first…Andrea?"

"Yeah?" I say, cheeks reddening.

"Are you worried about someone?"

"That's an overstatement. I just don't want to bother my housemates. Is it noisy?"

"Hmm." John takes the top from my hands for a moment, examines it, then hands it back with a shrug. "A Silencing Charm ought to do it. I was very lucky in my dormmates at Hogwarts, you know. Or so I believed at the time. Maybe it's no bad thing to see more clearly than I did."

"I know," I say, wrapping my fingers around the top. "I am grateful. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Sometimes I wish I couldn't. See everything."

John's expression turns thoughtful. "Is there more bad than good to see at Hogwarts, Annie? I felt you were getting on fairly well."

"I am," I say, thinking about the blinders that Violet stripped away from me two weeks ago. I don't want them back, exactly, but…

"There are just a few things I'd rather not…deal with yet."

"Yes," says my uncle. "I think I quite understand what you mean."

After a few minutes' silence, he asks, "Have you been given appropriate context for all you're learning?"

"They don't exactly teach magical theory to first-years."

"That's not what I mean. I'm asking if anyone has shared with you any…" he hesitates. "History."

"I hate history," I say.

John's lips furl into a grin.

"What?" I demand to know.

"Nothing. It's just good to hear you speak like an actual child once in a while." He changes the subject. "That friend of yours, Violet, does she drag you away from the books every so often?"

"You have no idea," I say.

"Smart kid. Tell her thanks from me. And ask her…oh, never mind," John says, turning away toward the window.

"Never mind? You can't just cut me off like that."

"It was a long time ago," John says, no longer smiling. "And you'll figure it out soon enough. Just keep up in Binn's class, yeah?"

"Uncle John," I say patiently. "No one in the history of Hogwarts has ever 'kept up' in Binn's class, no pun intended. Why all the talk about history all of a sudden?"

"Because you'll come across it in Slytherin House sooner than you would in most," he says, unsmiling. "Really, Andrea, forget it. I ought to give you more time…"

"...with the good things?" I say ironically.

He lets out a breath. "Yeah."

Now the conversation makes sense.

"If your 'history' involves an asinine prejudice against Muggleborns, I think I've heard it."

"Already?" he says grimly. "It was too much to hope that influence had faded in your generation. Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Nothing has been directed…at you?"

"No," I say, which is half a lie, but I'm not about to tell him about the confused, half-sick feeling that flutters in my chest when I think of Violet giving up her other friends for me. Or the fact that I only overheard the conversation by eavesdropping at the dormitory door.

"Good," he says. "If that changes, tell Professor Slughorn."

"I don't think he's very fond of me."

For some reason this prompts a laugh from Uncle John.

"Isn't he? How things change."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask again, frustrated at a conversation that seems to be taking place halfway out of my hearing.

"Nothing. He'd have adored you once…obsessed with dawning stars, he was. I suppose his values have altered a good deal in recent years. Who does Horace like, may I ask?"

I think back to Potions class.

"Gryffindors, mostly. Which I found ironic."

"You have no idea," says John. "You have no idea."