"Who is Bill McCarthy?" Professor Lupin asked.

Around the table, the sounds of people shifting in their chairs, tapping nervously, and fiddling with teacups did little to mask the sounds of Aminah's mother working to bring her tears under control. Aminah seemed to be crying as well, though more quietly. A trickle of sweat made a chilling trail down Harry's spine.

Soon Mrs. Khan's breathing was steadier and after a few false starts she was able to say, "he's an American wizard who has been trying to get a hold of the deeds of the Khan family lands in Pakistan for decades. I never thought he'd do something like this, though. It is so very wicked. So dark. He's outrageously wealthy and powerful already—I've never understood why he's pursued this so relentlessly. The land, well it is valuable to Javad's family because it is their home, but it is remote and simple: goats grazing barren lands, farmers eking out a living. Nothing that you'd think a highborn American wizard would want—we even thought it might be a muggle thing like oil, but we can't find evidence of it."

"I don't get it, mum. How can making papa hurt me… how can that help him get the lands?"

"It's the way they are written. If the heir is proven unfit… if he commits a crime… it's not just that. He meant to break your father. I should have never believed him capable. To break our family. Oh, and I played right into his hands. It's so obvious now. Oh, Aminah. I'm so sorry I didn't believe you. I … I didn't want to… hope… and then have to go through… oh, my heart. That… that… vile man… may he burn in Ahura Mazda's eternal flame. Oh! No! He didn't… oh, he knew. Oh!" Mrs. Khan's voice rose to a wail and a scream and then her chair clattered to the floor and she took some steps and then there was a heavy thud that shook the floorboards under Harry's feet. The room erupted in shouts, the screech of chair legs against the floor as they were shoved back, and the clatter of people jumping up and running over to Mrs. Khan.

Aminah was shrieking, "Mama, mama! What is it? Are you okay? Mama, where are you? What happened?"

Harry's heart had lodged itself in his throat and seemed to be obstructing his breath on its way to his lungs. He couldn't tell what was happening, but he could feel Aminah's fear zinging through the air on the current of her voice. He felt alone at the table and stood up, knowing that he'd just be in the way, but not being able to stand the isolation.

He hurried along, brushing his knuckles along the edge of a table and smashed his shin against something—a chair—he determined as he fell against it. He felt the legs of another table behind his back as he rolled over the chair. Then something heavy was rolling off the table and he tried to move out of the way, but he was in a tangle of chair legs. A shield sprang to life around him and whatever it was, struck the shield and bounded off, then thudded heavily across the floor.

"Was that a bowling ball!?" Harry asked in the direction of the footsteps that were heading his way as he ended the charm and grabbed at his shin through the legs of the chair.

Gemma's hand was on his arm, attempting to talk to him through signs he couldn't quite make out, but guessed that she was asking if he was okay. There was a flurry of swishing skirts, a frenetic jangling of bangles, the slapping of bare feet on wood, and a strong scent of pine resin. He guessed that Professor Trelawney was chasing the ball across the floor.

"Yeah. Just tripped."

He rocked back holding his shin and trying to extricate his other leg from between the rungs, the chair screeching against the floor. "Why didn't the shield come out before I ran into the chair?"

"Shield?" Gemma asked once he had extracted his limbs and she had access to his hands to sign.

"I guess it wasn't rainbow colored this time! It protected me from that bowling ball."

"Bowl?" Gemma used the sign for a container under his palms. "Crystal ball!" she fingerspelled into his hand.

"Oh, I guess that makes more sense up here. Did it break? Is Aminah okay? Her mum?"

"No, yes, yes. Not broken, upset. Crying. Not hurt." Gemma explained after she helped him up. He winced when he put weight on his bruised leg, but accepted her offer of sighted guide and she led him to the edge of the group huddled around Mrs. Khan and Aminah.

As he stood there, Professor Trelawney heaved the heavy ball back onto the table that Harry knocked it off of and then returned to the circle next to him. She was easy to track with her unmistakable aroma of cooking sherry and incense… it reminded him strongly of passing by a doorway on Charing Cross Road—a threshold to an exotic world. Her arms must have been covered with bracelets and bangles by the way she rattled when she moved.

"What did you see in the crystal ball?" she hissed at him. He turned toward her, his eyebrows raised, eyes wide and shrugged. She let out a breathy sigh that could have removed the varnish from furniture. He wondered what she looked like briefly, but then his attention was ensnared by the conversation Aminah was having with her mother.

"What do you mean that he knew, mum? What did he know?" Aminah was asking.

"My dear, my dear. Ah, it is so hard… too cruel… but he must have learned about the old faith … about the importance of fire and light—and how condemning you to darkness, taking away your ability to see the eternal flame… is the cruelest thing he could do… not only to you, but to force your father to do it to you…"

"Oh, but mama. I'm not in darkness. I can see the light and feel the warmth of the eternal flame. He didn't take any of that from me. Even if that's what he intended—he didn't do it. Truly. But we've got to tell papa…this has to be killing him."

"Yes, we have to find your papa! We have to free him of this curse! What else has this odious man done with Javad tied up in his puppet strings?" She stood up as she was talking, took a few steps away from the group, and then paused, turning back to them.

"What am I doing rushing off without thanking you? I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. This has all been so much… let me express how grateful I am. Thank you so much for helping us figure out this mystery. Professor Lupin, thank you for helping convince me to look into it further and thank you, Professor Trelawney, for your expertise with the graphology and for helping us discover the hidden message. And Gemma, dear, what a brilliant solution to grab the papers from the air. And Harry and Neville—for supporting my daughter with your friendship…" Mrs. Khan seemed to get a bit choked up again at that and turned away.

As the others were following Mrs. Khan and Aminah to the ladder, a bony hand grasped Harry's wrist and held him tight, fabric heavy with beads and fringe brushing against his skin. He yelped in surprise and tried to step back and pull his arm out of Professor Trelawney's grip—but she was strong.

Her breath was in his face again and he held his breath. Spittal landed on his cheeks and lips even as he turned his face away.

"You must tell me… what did you see in the crystal ball? It was scrying as it rolled away… of vital importance… something is coming. Tell me what you saw!" Professor Trelawney hissed again.

"I didn't see anything. I didn't even touch it—it bounced off my shield. I'm sorry I made it fall. I ran into a chair."

"But the mist—there was a figure— you must have seen it," her voice was quiet and tremulous. It made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"I can't see—I'm blind," Harry stated with exasperation and rising anger. "I didn't even know it was a crystal ball until Gemma told me… I thought it was a bowling ball."

Harry squirmed as Professor Trelawney claw-like fingers dug into his arm and her other hand snatched his glasses off his face. The skin around his eyes felt exposed and cool, despite the sweltering heat in the tower.

"Hey, stop it! Give me back my glasses!"

"What are you doing to Harry?" shouted Neville, his footsteps clodding toward them.

Harry tried pulling away more fiercely, no longer worried about offending a future professor. She was nose to nose with him, pulling at the skin around his eyes—making his eyes flood with tears.

She released him suddenly and he staggered back, rubbing his arm. Neville slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Sybil? Is everything okay?" Professor Lupin asked, closer than Harry realized he was.

Gemma's hand was on his wrist, nudging his glasses into his hand. He wondered how she got them from Professor Trelawney. He put them back on, relieved to have the barrier between him and this kooky professor.

"He won't tell me what he saw!" Professor Trelawney stated; her ephemeral voice evaporating.

"Sybil, you know he's blind, right?" Professor Lupin sounded like he was speaking to a tantruming child.

"He doesn't need to see well to have the sight! Look at me!"

"Yes, but you have some vision," Professor Lupin stated.

"There was something in that crystal ball… something is coming… I'm sure it was a warning. Did you see it?" Professor Trelawney said with a bit of a haunt back in her voice; she was swaying in a way that made her bangles jingle softly and her skirts swish in rhythm.

Gemma took her hand off of Harry's arm to respond to the question.

"Gemma said that she also saw a dark form in the crystal ball… she thought it looked like a beast—a bear or something," Professor Lupin translated—Harry wasn't sure if it was for his benefit or Professor Trelawney's.

"See! I knew it! A Grim. It must be a Grim. Ahhh. Such foreboding. Let me fetch the herb satchels," Professor Trelawney said eerily and stumbled off into the corner of the room from where she'd first emerged.

"Harry—are you alright? She's… well, passionate about… divination," Professor Lupin seemed almost embarrassed.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Harry said as he shuddered, and then blurted out, "but I didn't like the way she touched me." He clapped a hand over his mouth—he couldn't believe that he said that about a teacher, about an adult.

"Quite right. I'll talk to her. Though we need to head back to the Center—I should have helped Mrs. Khan and Aminah descend the ladder. And they'll need assistance with removing the Imperius curse." He paused. "Er, that's quite a T-shirt you have there, Harry. It's a good thing that Professor Trelawney is too nearsighted to notice it."

Harry felt the T-shirt, trying to discern what it could be saying now. He was going to have to pack it away.

"Er, yeah. A gift from the Weasley twins," he said.

"Do they know where Mr. Khan is?" Neville asked.

"No, that's right—first they need to locate him. I imagine they'll want to involve the Auror's office… and this is an international case as well… very complicated," Professor Lupin was muttering as they walked over to the trap door.

Harry had his staff out—he didn't fancy falling through a hole in the floor, especially with his shin still smarting from his tumble over the chair legs. He'd put some essence of dittany on it later—he wanted to get away from Professor Trelawney with her claw-like hands and sherry breath as soon as possible.

What if I have to take classes with her? Divination?!

"Neville, did you select your courses for next year already?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry—before the end of… oh. Didn't you?"

"No, I left early. I never chose them." Harry's stomach felt as small, hard, and pockmarked as one of Uncle Vernon's golf balls.

"Can you owl the school and ask?" Neville suggested.

"Right. I'll do that," Harry said, trying to ignore the tendrils of fear that snaked up his legs. "What about you, Gemma? Have you chosen your classes for next year?"

"She didn't see your slip, Harry. I don't think she's paying attention… too hard to follow while we're walking," Neville said. "And she still has to take a test to determine if she's going to be a first-year or a second-year. She told me."

"Right. Sorry, Gemma," Harry said, turning in the direction where he thought she was.

"What for?" she asked under his outstretched hand.

"For talking to you while we were moving," Harry explained.

"It's okay. Neville's nervous about _," Gemma said.

"About what?" Harry asked and she fingerspelled 'L-A-D-D-E-R' into his hand and then taught him the sign for ladder while Professor Lupin gently coached Neville on how to climb down.

Professor Lupin told Harry to sit on the floor and then swing his legs through the hole. He pulled his hands toward the rope of the ladder that was tied to two large metal rings which were gouging the wood as Neville's weight shifted from side to side as he climbed down. Professor Lupin told Harry to reach out with his foot to find the rungs, but it took a while of directing before Harry actually found it—he had to stretch out farther than he was comfortable doing—teetering on the edge of the opening.

Finally, he was on his way down and it was a lot easier once he knew the spacing between rungs. Gemma came after him—he could tell because she was so lightweight that the ladder barely moved as she shifted from side to side. He felt Neville get off and then Professor Lupin get on and it swung a lot more with the professor's weight. Finally, Neville's hand was on his back and then his feet were on the floor.

Harry and Neville held the ladder steady as Gemma climbed down. Harry said some encouraging things to Gemma before he remembered that she had her back to him and couldn't see the slips of paper. He pressed his nose and mouth against his shoulder—his arm stretched up and rubbing against the wiry hairs of the rope ladder. His shirt had been permeated with the incense of the tower and reeked of sweat as well.

What if I run into Snape while we're in Hogwarts and the shirt says something rude to him!

Harry laughed silently at the thought for a moment until he imagined how enraged Professor Snape would be. He didn't want to be in the path of that anger. He wished he knew what the shirt was doing. It was funny—but it would be funnier if he had been in on the joke.

Gemma jumped down, skipping the last few rungs and put her hand on Harry's back. He could tell she was signing something to Neville, too, and waited for Neville to tell him what she was saying.

"Gemma was asking if I'm going to stay for dinner," Neville explained.

"Are you?"

"Sure, if you want me, too. Gran will probably want to, too, as she loves the food here."

Gemma was signing again.

"You want me to fetch my mum?" Neville asked.

Harry could feel and hear Professor Lupin getting closer to the bottom of the ladder.

"Alice?" Professor Lupin said from above their heads.

"Yes, my mum's name is Alice," Neville said in a guarded tone.

"I thought she was… well, is she up for dinner at the Center?" asked Professor Lupin, landing solidly on the wooden floor of the platform and turning toward them.

"I dunno," Neville mumbled. "I'll ask Gran… see what she thinks. It might be too much for mum. Too many people. Too much noise."

"I'd love to see her, if she does come," Professor Lupin said. "She was always really kind to me. And your dad, too."

"You knew them?" Neville asked, his reticence unfurling.

"Yes—we were in school together. They were closer to Lily, though."

"Lily?" Neville asked.

"Harry's mum—I was good friends with James—Harry's dad," Professor Lupin said.

Harry wasn't sure why the statement made him feel so sad… it wasn't like he knew them.

Maybe that's why. I never had a chance to know them.

"Oh," Neville said.

"Well, yes, that's a good idea. I'll do that."

Harry wondered what Professor Lupin was agreeing to and furrowed his eyebrows as if by concentrating he'd understand.

"Gemma's invited Professor Lupin to join us for dinner," Neville whispered into Harry's ear as they started filing down the narrow staircase.

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Professor Lupin rushed off to try to catch up with Aminah and Mrs. Khan after they passed through the Egress to return to the Center.

"Neville, do you want to visit our dorm?" Harry invited—he was keen to change his shirt before he had another encounter with a rude person. He felt relieved that they managed to get through the corridors at Hogwarts without running into Professor Snape.

"Sure, it is as beautiful as the rest of the Center?" Neville asked.

Harry frowned a bit, but the question seemed to be directed to Gemma. He did think their room in the dormitory was comfortable, but he hadn't really thought about its beauty.

Maybe it was.

He shook his head… trying to rid himself of his maudlin thoughts. Beauty isn't just visual, he reminded himself. He thought of the herb garden when the sun warmed the stones and the bees were buzzing around—the fragrances caught by the breezes. He remembered the crisp air as it whistled through his broom, flying over the wide expanse of the Mont Blanc lake. He felt Gemma's whispers of touches as she spoke to him. He imagined of even rows of dots pressed through stiff parchment that held thoughts, ideas, feelings.

In the dorm, Harry took a moment to use the toilet while Gemma showed Neville her part of the room. He shed his shirt and stuffed the Twin's prank shirt down the laundry shoot… thinking about when he'd wear it next.

Maybe when I go back to Privet Drive? That could be bad…

Getting a whiff of his armpits, he decided to take a quick shower—the incense of the tower seemed to have infiltrated his hair, too.

He emerged from the toilet feeling refreshed and to the sound of Neville laughing uproariously. He walked over to Gemma's area and heard pages turning.

"What are you looking at?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry—You've got to see this!" Neville exclaimed, his laughter bubbling through his words. "Oh, sorry!"

"What is it?"

"Gemma's sketchbook. She's so good. Don't you have that tool in your staff? So that you can feel pictures?"

"Yeah. Why are you laughing, though? I mean, I've heard other folks here say that she's really a gifted artist—are they cartoons or something?" Harry was confused. "I thought she did art."

"Well, some of them are… well, just see for yourself. Come on. She wants you to look," Neville said, pulling on his wrist and pressing his hand against the pages of a bound book. He could feel graphite rubbing off on his fingers and recoiled—not wanting to ruin her pictures.

Neville pulled out Gemma's desk chair and pushed him into it a little clumsily. Harry summoned his digitus from his staff and with Gemma's and Neville's fingers guiding him to the images in the book, drew the tool across the page.

Simple forms emerged from the page—instead of miniature three-dimensional human forms of the photographs that held warmth, movement, and the texture of clothing, wood furniture and the other objects of a room, this was more like feeling an embossed page—the pencil lines that he had felt as grimy dust under his fingers were now forming lines of raised paper and it was a lot harder to get a sense of the image. He could follow the lines with his fingers, but couldn't get a sense of the whole picture. Just when he thought he understood it, he'd lose the meaning of it when another line interrupted what he thought he comprehended. He dropped his digitus in frustration.

"What is it?" Gemma asked, her nervousness fluttering through her fingers.

"I just can't get it. It's just a bunch of lines. I can't make sense of it. Sorry, Gemma," Harry said, feeling as if he'd failed her.

"It's okay," she signed on his back. She ruffled his hair—wet as it was from the shower. "Let's go eat. I'm starving."

Harry was about to end the charm when Neville grabbed his hand and pushed it over the lines, "See, here? This is my head and here's the broom, and here's where I fell, and here are my legs getting caught in the bushes…" Neville sounded almost desperate.

"It does sound funny, Neville—I bet Gemma did a great job of capturing it—it's just hard for me to make sense of… it doesn't really make a picture for me," Harry tried to explain.

He muttered Non tangere to end the spell and shoved his digitus back in his staff.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't think about that… how the lines would be hard to read for you. I wish I could describe how funny it is… but I'm no good at words," Neville's levity had evaporated.

"It's okay, Neville. Not everything translates," Harry said. "Let's go to dinner. Are you going to get your mum?"

"I want to, but I'm afraid it'll be too much for her."

"Yeah. Might be. Why don't we bring her over on a night when there aren't as many people?"

"That's a good idea."

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Harry, Neville, Mrs. Longbottom, Gemma, Peter, and Terry (Gemma's brother) were able to find a free table in a corner of the dining hall next to the table that Gemma's parents were sitting at with some other parents.

People had stopped mentioning the article—Harry was pretty certain that Healer Jordan had made a convincing case on his behalf and he was thankful. Though there were a few times when he heard the sound of parchment rustling suspiciously as he passed—as though someone was hastily putting it out of sight. He couldn't help but roll his eyes when that happened.

Harry sat between Neville and Gemma, and Peter was on Gemma's other side. They were having a round about conversation where Gemma told Harry what Peter was saying and Harry would pass it along to Neville, Mrs. Longbottom, and Terry and vice versa and it quickly became a hilarious game of telephone. Mrs. Longbottom's inability to see the humor of it somehow made it that much funnier, though they were able to bring themselves under control when they were distracted by tender roast and savory vegetables served at the table instead of the buffet.

After their dinner dishes were cleared away (melting magically into the surface of the table—a sensation that Harry found both fascinating and a little bit unsettling as his fingers almost got sucked along into the table along with his plate until he had the good sense to pull his hand back), something else popped into existence in the same spot.

His fingertips still tingling from the suction of the magic, Harry reached out tentatively toward the popping sound followed by a tinkling of crystal. He found the chilled foot of a cut crystal goblet and traced the elegant design up the stem to the bowl. He didn't find a spoon sticking off the rim, so he felt around on the table until he found one (Gemma pushed it closer to his searching fingers).

He could smell a faint vanilla aroma and guessed that it was custard… the texture as his spoon broke the surface made his mouth water in anticipation and he was pleased when his tongue confirmed a creamy custard with a faint lemony shadow. He ate it as slowly as he could, savoring each bite.

He heard the sound of a levitating chair nearby and then a hand was on his back.

"Harry, do you like the custard?" Besel was asking.

"Oh, it is so good!" he exclaimed.

"I made it today during one of the morning sessions—I missed your goat milking expertise," Besel said.

"Oh, well. I'm sorry I missed that—I would have liked to have learned how to make this—it is amazing."

"We can do it again for one of our Practical Life lessons. It is easier than it tastes!"