What remained of the moonlight's attempt to break through the sheltering web of branches danced eerily over the broken columns of stone as the two boys clambered toward the center. Salazar paused once to stare up at the sky, searching for the tiniest break of open sky. Still much too dark.

"Lumos," he muttered, urging his already lit wand to glow all the brighter.

Godric had climbed on a certain boulder, and his fingers searched familiarly over the cracked stone, knowing each bump and blemish. "Latin," he said simply, making the first word spoken above a whisper for the first time in over an hour. "I think that's such a strange language."

"Damn it." Salazar's wand tumbled into the dust, the lit end rolling around like a drunken firefly, as he doubled over in a laugh. "Ricky, this is supposed to be serious!"

Godric just grinned. "So. . . I guess the ashes might be buried under the stones. I mean, you can feel their warmth when you come in."

He had guessed that to be the ashes. Salazar thought for a moment, but didn't know what to think. With a shrug he bent down to retrieve his wand, a long dark shadow against the black ground. "So help me look."

Weeds crackled as Godric hopped down from his boulder, and for a few minutes all was silent save for the common symphony of the night forest.

"Salazar," Godric finally said.

The other boy, consumed with the powdery feel of the soil, barely turned. "Hm?"

"I have a confession to make." He groaned with the effort of pushing a rock forward. "I've been here before. A lot. With my aunt."

Salazar's hand slid into a quite large pile of the greasy ashes situated just under a slanted boulder. He felt them slide through his fingers, warm and night-cool at the same time. "You have?"

"Yeah." The response was almost too loud in the empty trees. "I thought. . . well, everyone around here knows about it. At least the magic children. I've been coming here forever."

Just what he had been waiting for. Salazar's lips spurned upwards into a tiny smile. So Godric had admitted it. "I know."

Somewhere, a small stone tumbled from Godric's hand to the ground and rolled into tone of the larger boulders. "You did?" His voice was almost childish.

"I did." Salazar rose up, dumping a large handful of ashes into the leather pouch he had brought; the spell didn't require so much. "I saw you. And that red-haired girl; I guess she's your aunt."

"Marigold."

"Marigold." For some reason, he felt he should remember the name. "I should probably expect a hex in the future for saying this, but. . . I thought you were Muggle brats."

"Muggle?" The surprise shifted into hysterical laughter. "Well. That's something I've never been called before. You didn't plan on killing me, did you?"

Salazar joined in laughing. "Thought about. Maybe I will someday."

Then, almost inaudibly, distant trees moved their branches. Both boys went silent. For a moment the noise stopped, slipping only to what was normal. But then. . . .

The boys exchanged terrified glances.

"Hide," Salazar commanded, ducking into a brush-covered cavern under an oblong stone that had fallen against another. Godric scurried in next to him, slamming against Salazar's toe. He stifled a gasp, but was sure to give his friend a quick kick in the shin. The ends of the wands' still glowed; they hissed them out, and slowly the faint moonlight revealed the necessary.

After a minute, a cloaked figure emerged into the clearing. He paused once, listening. The boys held their breaths. Then the figure continued forward until he reached the center boulder of the ruins.

"Adults can't come here," Godric murmured.

Salazar nodded vigorously.

The cloaked man again paused, waiting, then pulled out a wand and tapped the boulder three times. With each click of wood against stone the boulder glowed eerily green, like phosphorous, before its light washed again into the darkness.

This is stupid, Salazar found himself thinking. This is stupid and mad.

Then, one by one, more cloaked figures Apparated into the clearing, forming a perfect circle around the original man. They stood where they were, silent black statues. Except for one, who, with a single quick effort, flung a limp bag onto the ground.

"I've found something," he said with something of a laugh. "A tiny spy."

"You brought something so trivial to a meeting of the Order?" another voice asked, female. "A child? You might have killed it."

"I might still," the first man agreed. "But I thought it best to first submit the fate of such a child as this to the will of the Order."

A silent interest rose.

Something glinted in the faint moonlight. A dagger, Salazar surmised. The man reached forward and slit open the bag. "Do you recognize her?"

There was no reply.

The man seemed to wait longer, tasting the attention he had. "I had decided to work with a certain Muggle man who was betrothed to the kinswoman of one of Clearwater's students. He disappoints me, but at our talk I picked up something helpful. This child is a student. Her name is Rowena Ravenclaw."

Rowe! Salazar felt his lungs turn to ice. Next to him Godric slid heavily into the boulder.

Intense surprise circled like a wildfire among the group.

"Are you sure?" the original man asked.

"She attempted an invisibility charm. And may I compliment her that she was quite good at it. Far better than could be expected for a witch her age. Now. . . does the Order wish her dead?"

"I suggest we keep her," someone called out. "I'm sure she knows plenty that can be of use to us. She might bring down the foolish idealism of Evans and Clearwater, that same sham she was a part of. We could always kill her later."

"We have to get her." Godric shot forward, but Salazar held him back.

"You fool," he hissed. "They'll get us, too."

"We can't just let them have Rowena."

Salazar almost smiled. Such rampant bravery. Couldn't Godric appreciate it would be best to wait. But Rowe. . . his gaze wandered through darkness until he found her still silhouette. No. . . not now.

"And if she is so talented," said another. "Why couldn't she join us?"

"Excellent ideas," the woman mused. "A child Fighter. The rest of the Order would hardly approve of that. And yet. . . it's perfect. And what of this Muggle of yours, Dalibor?"

"Malak." The name was mockery. "He may be useful longer. I believe that it is his bretrothed who is the trouble. Though why he insists upon using her is beyond me. But he is a good, simple fool." Dalibor laughed deeply. "I have him convinced that I am-that all of us-are angels."

Apparently it was a good joke all around, and all laughed.

"We have to get her now," Godric insisted.

"Not yet."

Godric scowled and broke past Salazar's arm. In seconds the Fighters would see.

"Immobulus," Salazar whispered, flinging out his wand.

Godric froze, a still figure still crouched unseen in the weeds.

It's for the best, Salazar thought. To go now would be beyond foolish. All those adults. And... they were the Fighters. Never had he imagined he would really see them. The near-renegade section of the Order of the Phoenix.

But Rowe. .. he knew he could rescue her. If he just waited a little longer.

He watched as the conversation turned into other matters, things he couldn't follow concerning Muggles and snatches of mention of Lord Clearwater and Jonas Evans. And then. . . then they turned to stare at something beyond the branch canopy. This was it. He looked to Godric, and released him from the spell.

"Now," he whispered.

Godric stuck out his tongue, but crept forward behind Salazar.

Their backs were turned.. . . Rowe still lay motionless. So easy to rescue her.

Then one of the wizards turned. The boys shrank back into the weeds. The wizard seemed to have heard nothing, but his hood slipped back.

It was all Salazar could do not to scream.

Another wizard picked up Rowe's limp body and Apparated. The rest followed.

And the clearing was again empty save for the two boys.

"Rowena!" Godric screamed. He whirled on Salazar. "Why did you stop me!"

Rowe. . . Salazar shook his head, stunned. "I. . . we couldn't have rescued her. They would have caught us."

"We could have done something."

"No." But Godric was right: they could have.

Godric snarled and hopped onto a boulder. "We have to tell someone. My uncle Jonas. Lord Terminus. Your father. . .he's a wizard."

"Ricky. . ."

Godric hopped down, his glowering face right against Salazar's. "Another complaint?"

"My father was just here."