Several months had marked their change upon Terminus' lessons, taking the silly and mindless reviews of what any proper wizarding child would know—at least in Godric's experience—into a truly deeper magic. Nearly each class would bring with it a new philosophy matched with intense practice of what had already been taught. Learning was suddenly vicious, and Terminus and Jonas seemed to grow only more pleased each thing they threw at the students. A challenge in every sense of the word, and yet Godric found himself not caring. Granted, he didn't hold the same naiveté as little Rowena, who happily took everything as fun games that she could squeeze into whatever length of attention span she felt like demonstrating that day. But there was a certain joy in it, though perhaps extracted from the contrast against the demands of his father's kin. And surely it was more than that—to put it simply, he liked magic.

Admittedly, there were times when he wanted nothing more than to throw one of his newly learned curses into Terminus' face, or see if any hex would force some semblance of skill from Jonas' blissful Squib state. He and Salazar spent afternoons discussing what combinations would have the most entertaining effects, even occasionally sending out a blast that was quickly covered with an apology and the stubborn lie that they were only practicing, which was taken well enough. Rowena was an excellent cover as well—the adults doted on her and as she was always willing for a new game she was sometimes used as the spell's medium. Helga never participated, though Godric often heard her bell-like giggling, overhearing a plot.

The magic seemed to come harder to Helga, though when performance was demanded she was as good as anyone. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her teeth clenched or muttering as she again set herself to master a particular concept. Her eyes were different in those moments of determination, a darker blue, intense like the noon sky. . . he didn't know why he noticed. At times when she was nearly in tears he offered his help, and she would take it. Yet she never asked for it.

"She's doing fine, Ricky," Salazar hissed one day as Godric returned from helping Helga. "She knows what she is doing."

Godric gave a small shrug and glanced back at Helga, who was now effortlessly scribbling down the possible ingredients for the spell Terminus had just demanded. "I just wanted to check."

"And you checked." Salazar gave a curt nod and pushed a strand of black hair from his eyes. Parchment lay on the stone floor before him. "See this."

"Salazar. . . " Godric feigned a sigh, but inside he was grinning as he picked up the parchment. An invisibility charm, it seemed at first, but. . . no. He pressed his fingertips into the grainy parchment and swiped downwards, and in seconds Salazar's spidery writing was clear. He read. "Did you make this up?"

"Make what up?" Rowena's cousin Heather Woodkeep had just entered the room, a slice of sticky bread and a letter in hand. Terminus and Jonas were off discussing something, and she had been assigned to mind the class, to make sure they were studying rather than playing. So far she hadn't done much of her job.

Salazar reddened, as he nearly always did around Heather, Godric thought wickedly. "It's. . . a potion. To show Lord Clearwater." He glanced at Godric, who nodded.

"I see." She slid into her usual chair at the edge of the room and opened her letter.

Rowena's eyes were fixed hungrily on the sticky bread. "Can I have that?"

A simple question. Heather's hand jerked, and the letter slid down her skirt to the floor. "I. . . oops." She swept up the parchment, taking great care of the bread in her lap. "No, Rowena. I'm sorry. But this treat here is for Lord Clearwater." Her voice melted into the enunciated vibration nearly everyone reserved for the girl.

"But—"

"The house-elves baked an entire pan, though. Perhaps we can sneak some before we leave." She smiled at the other three. "I'm sure you all could."

"That won't be hard," Salazar said. "The house-elves throw nearly everything at me every time I come here. Don't worry, Rowe, you and I can go get some together. Later."

"Oh." Rowena returned to her scroll.

Godric wondered if she'd remember the sticky bread, though he decided he'd get a slice after lessons. He returned to Salazar's list. "Ashes. . . do you mean the ordinary kind?"

Salazar shook his head and pointed to a small note. "But I know where we can get some."

So did Godric. In fact, the thought had occurred to him as soon as he had read the spell. But. . . he almost couldn't tell. Some secrets couldn't be told, no matter how silly and obvious to the world he knew them to be. Marigold barely appreciated the place, and she had grown up with Godric. "Where?"

The flash died from Salazar's eyes as the door opened again. Terminus had returned.

"Apparate to the lake's edge," Salazar murmured, yanking the note from Godric's hand. "At midnight, if you can."

Of course he could.

"Did they actually work on the question?" Terminus asked Heather as he strode over to his own chair.

"Hm?" She didn't bother to look up—evidently her letter was more captivating than Terminus. "Oh, yes. They were wonderful."

"What about his bread?" Rowena jumped to her feet, black curls bouncing like storm clouds at her shoulders. "The sticky bread you wouldn't let me have!"

So much for remembering.

"Yes. . . ." She spoke like air, and carefully folded the letter and tucked it beneath the chair's cushion. And there she sat, the bread still on its napkin nestled into her lap.

"Sticky bread?" With a laugh Terminus turned to her. "I am rather hungry, now that you mention it."

"The house-elves were baking, they sent up a slice for you." She finally met his gaze. "I'm sorry, but I'm a bit light-headed. Rowena? Could you be a dear and give this to Lord Clearwater?" She stretched out her hand with the bread.

Rowena leaped to her feet and darted to her cousin. But before she was there Heather's arm trembled, and the bread fell to the floor as a pile of mash.

"You broke it!" Rowena declared with a violent gasp.

A blush crept over Heather's features. "Oh, dear. I'm very sorry, Lord Clearwater. I doubt you want to eat it now."

He laughed again and shook his head. "Don't fret, Lady Woodkeep. I'll just have the house-elves send up another slice, though I hate to upset them with treating their first offer in such a way."

"I'll eat it," Rowena volunteered. "I'm hungry."

"No!" Heather, in a sudden cure, leaped to her feet. "Rowena, you know it's dirty now, it's—"

Rowena stared at her, playing the older cousin herself. "I'm only kidding." With a dramatic sigh she sat back down.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The sticky bread was quite good when it wasn't mashed on Terminus' floor, Godric decided as he Apparated back into his own room at the Gryffindor Castle. He was still eating his first slice, though several more were tucked into his pockets. It felt refreshingly childish to steal again, though taking food from house-elves could hardly be called stealing. The term still added the extra flavor, however. He emptied them onto his bed and set out into the corridor, thinking.

He'd be committing another crime tonight, but one he pulled fairly often, when he and Marigold wanted to play. Of course, that had been when they were younger and she wasn't so set on picking a suitor—why, her brother Caspian was in his late twenties and still unmarried. He supposed he might drag her out again, someday, but Salazar would be more interesting, wherever he was leading Godric.

Phoenix ashes, came the thought. All for a silly prank hex? Godric wasn't complaining, but why must it be phoenix ashes? Couldn't they find some other bird and set fire to it and collect those? He didn't think he'd dare, or could ever be so heartless, but it was still a possibility. Salazar would surely be up for that, with the recklessness that made him so interesting. Marigold would never imagine such a thing. And yet Godric had actually shown her the old alter ruins. The only place he could think of to find phoenix ashes. Salazar couldn't know about that place, it was impossible. Every wizarding child around, in each generation for years, knew about it—but Salazar still couldn't know. It was the secret Godric wished he could guard forever.

His mother's voice echoed through the empty corridors. She was speaking to someone, and hardly bothering to whisper. Godric swallowed the last bite of sticky bread and stopped before the corner that circled into the main hall. He could glimpse her, pacing the floor, long red skirts trailing behind her.

". . . hardly a romantic notion, Caspian, whatever you may think!" Her voice was high, thick with the berating venom Godric had himself felt before. And she was laying it into his uncle Caspian.

Godric took another step, trying hard to keep his feet silent. Caspian was indeed there, black robes near drowning out his paler features. Godric liked to think he looked similar to Caspian, and in some ways he supposed he did. The eyes, of course, were the same, though Godric had missed the Evans' red hair. Yet he was still growing, and he planned to pass Caspian in height. Eventually. Caspian stood firm against his elder sister's chaotic pacing, a frown set on his smooth face.

"I seem to remember that you married a Muggle man, once upon a time," he said. "How is this any different?"

Rose whirled on him, eyes blazing as she glared up into his. "Different? You very well know the difference! Caspian, Lady Woodkeep is betrothed to another. Betrothed! Do you have any idea what stake Muggles can put such things?" She shook a finger at him and swept back into her march.

"Not care for honor as you do."

"Honor? Eloping like this. . . why, it could be likened unto kidnapping!"

Kidnapping? Godric felt all the blood in his body rush like a wildfire into his head. He leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on his mother and uncle.

She continued. "Caspian, when Father dies, you will be responsible for the Evans land."

Something akin to a growl escaped Caspian's throat. "It wasn't supposed to be me. If Frederick. . . ."

"Frederick was murdered!" Rose's voice cracked. "I remember that as well as you do." She angrily brushed a hand past her eyes.

"Sometimes I doubt it."

She stopped and stared at him, chest heaving. "How dare you say that."

He shrugged. "I take it back, then."

"Thank-you."

"But I am sorry I told you of my plans."

"I would have been happier not hearing them, I admit. But you can't do this. Not to the Woodkeeps, not to the Gryffindors—"

"Gryffindors?" It was his turn to take her. "What does the sniveling family of your lord's have to do with anything?"

She sighed deeply into her hands, then met his eyes. "This Malak you claim she is to marry. . . he's kin to the Gryffindors. Do you have any idea what words they'd have for me if you interrupted whatever plans they have made?"

"And when do you care what the Gryffindors think?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but somehow, as Godric watched, every bit of her resolve failed. "Caspian. . . ."

He was silent for a long time. "I must be off now. Goodbye, sister." With a small pop he Apparated, leaving Rose gazing at where he had been.

Then she sighed again and ran her fingers though her hair. "Ricky, I know you were listening," she called. "Come here."

Godric obeyed, though he wondered what Caspian's problem had to do with him.

She forced a smile, seeming to hear his thoughts. "Caspian is being a fool, as usual. Tell me, how were your lessons?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sticky bread was delicious, Rowena thought happily as she licked the sugary glaze from her lips. The house-elves at Lord Clearwater's were very good cooks. They even told her she could have treats whenever she wanted. Which was more than what her mama would let her have. She tried to think of an exact number. Well, it would be far more. Still, her mama was a better cook than Lord Clearwater's house-elves. But then they were better than her mama and papa's house-elves when it came to baking. At least she could have treats when she was at lessons. She liked lessons. They were fun. Though she could still Apparate long before Jonas had asked her. She still liked him. He was funny. She also liked Apparating. So did Heather, except Heather was a Muggle and couldn't do it. But Rowena had discovered away to take people with her when she Apparated, and Heather could pick her up in her arms and travel with her. Every lesson day, Rowena got to take Heather home. Which was a little different, since Heather was a grown-up. And a Muggle. Muggles always needed people to take care of them.

They had Apparated back to Heather's home. Rowena's parents were traveling, and she would rather stay with Heather and her aunt and uncle than have a bunch of house-elves following her around. They never wanted to play fun games, just work. Heather said she would play, though. Just as soon as she finished talking to someone.

"The monster?" Rowena had asked.

Heather had laughed at that. "Yes, the monster. The scary man that keeps coming here and refuses to leave."

Malak was the monster's name. Rowena had read somewhere that Malak meant "angel" in a another-land language, but Malak wasn't an angel—he was the monster. He liked Heather, though. But Heather was smart and didn't like him back. In a way, it was sad, since her aunt and uncle said that Heather had to marry Malak.

Malak and Heather were in the library, talking. They probably didn't want Rowena to hear, but she could hear them just fine—she was sitting outside the door. It was a trick Salazar had taught her. She liked Salazar. He had given her a pet rabbit, all nice and brown and soft. She had named the rabbit Salazar. Salazar the rabbit was at home. She considered Apparating there and getting him. It would be more fun than listening to Heather and the monster man. But. . . Salazar the human had told her she had to keep listening and be patient if she wanted to hear anything interesting, sometimes.

But they were just talking about marriage.

She sighed and took another bite of sticky bread.

Then Heather mentioned sticky bread. She mentioned how it had fallen to the floor.

Malak didn't sound happy about that. "I'd hardly think that an accident, Heather."

"I wasn't feeling very well." Heather had looked sick.

"Then why didn't you just poison another slice? Or something else?"

Poison? Poison was bad. Rowena swallowed her bite and put her ear to the door.

"Malak, I—"

"I ask for one favor, that you might help me."

"I can't just. . . Malak, this is Lord Clearwater. He's powerful even among our people. I can't just kill him."

Kill Lord Clearwater?

Malak didn't say anything for a long time. "I thought you stood by me on this, Heather. You will make a poor bride."

"Then demand your family cancel this damn betrothal!"

"And lose you? I think you forget I love you. No, you'll serve your purposes as wife quite nicely. You just aren't a very good accomplice. But in bed, I suppose you'll be fine enough."

"That's hardly proper talk—"

Rowena fell back at the sound of a slap. She heard Heather give a small cry.

"You bastard. . ."

"You'll live. Just remember that I have people to answer to."

The monster man had hurt Heather! Rowena suddenly hated him more than she had.

He was walking, coming toward the door.

Stifling a cry, Rowena made herself invisible.

The door opened, and Malak slept out. He was tall, too tall, and very strong-looking. Rowena was almost afraid. He stood in the doorway, staring out into the hall, before slamming it behind him and marching off.

As quietly as she could, Rowena climbed to her feet and crept after him. She wondered if he could hear her, still. But even if he could, Muggles would never imagine an invisible person. She liked being invisible.

He left the house and entered the garden, still unaware that a little girl was behind him. She wanted to laugh. He thought he was all alone. Except for. . .

Someone else was in the garden. Someone she had never seen before. Well. . . she couldn't be completely sure. The person was wearing black robes, and a hood that covered all of his face, like a blanket dropped over his head with only a tiny hole torn in the middle. Maybe he'd scare off the monster man.

But Malak didn't seem afraid. He strode right up to the person, then bowed deeply.

"Is Terminus Clearwater dead?" the person asked. It was a man.

"No, but through no fault of my own."

"But the task was given to you. You promised me you knew a way into the lake manor."

"Please." Malak's voice remained surprisingly calm—Rowena wanted him to be a coward, to shake. "My betrothed, the Lady Woodkeep, swore to help me. She has a cousin, a young child who is a student of Clearwater's. She often takes the child there. Some time ago, she promised me she'd find a way to poison Clearwater."

"And how hard is it for a demure girl to poison a man?" The black-robed man sounded angry—she felt a little afraid, even though he couldn't see her. "I promised you blessings, mortal. Wealth and life and whatever else you might desire."

"I do not demand these things, my lord—"

The black-robed man gave a sickening laugh. "You hardly dare deny me? I, who can see straight into your hell-bound soul with a sight beyond what even the Christians with their new ways imagine? You want these things, and there is grace in that. There is no grace in your shame. Terminus Clearwater is a danger to even his own people. I've told you what evil he plots against the old folk—and even the Christians."

"I'm sorry." The first quiver of the fear she so demanded wound into Malak's voice. "She. . . the Lady Woodkeep is a fool, utterly harmless. I can find another way—"

"We consider putting another into this position."

"You have the power to destroy him. . . ."

"We do. But what good is it to us, when you and your fellow mortals are those who need to. . . " He stopped. Rowena watched as the gaze she could only imagine scanned the garden. She held her breath. "When only mortals needs fear. You, Malak. . ."

"You honor me with my name."

"Malak," the black-robed man repeated with some amusement. "You could be a great asset to your people. You could help in so many ways. If only you pass this first task."

Malak bowed again. "Yes, my lord."

"Words mean little. Do as I have said." The black-robed man stepped around Malak.

He was coming right towards her! But he couldn't see her, she was invisible. His words flooded through her mind, bringing doubt and a horrible pounding of her heart. Perhaps he could see her. . .

She threw herself to the ground, hoping her spell would hold. She should have stayed with Heather.

She screamed as burning hands wrenched her to her feet, screamed harder than she had ever had for anything. Perhaps Heather would hear. Or her aunt or uncle. Or maybe even her mama and papa.

"Shut up, you little bitch," the black-robed man's voice laughed as he pulled something dark and scratchy over her eyes.

A wand touched her shoulder—she felt him twist her own from her grip—and her body went limp. Like Salazar the rabbit, when he was asleep. She hated the feeling. She couldn't move anything. Just like a sleeping rabbit. And then he picked her up, and she felt the familiar tug of Apparating.

She didn't understand why Heather thought it was so fun.