Chapter 21: The Poison

"Students, teachers… first, allow me to set the record straight on current events and put to rest any rumors or misinformation. Firstly, Headmaster Flitwick is still very much alive - and, while it's too early to rule out any more complications, is expected to recover. He suffered a heart attack during the evening hours yesterday and was taken to the Dilys Derwent Clinic in Hogsmeade for emergency treatment. All indications as of now are that the Headmaster is stabilized and will be moved soon to St. Mungo's in London to continue his recovery. Now, as for where that leaves us and Hogwarts… firstly, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry never was and never will be in the hands or on the shoulders of one witch or wizard. Over a hundred Headteachers of Hogwarts have come and gone in the centuries this school has stood. And it has always stood. Because there has always been a plan, and then a plan after the plan. The world is by its nature unpredictable. And unpredictability means you must plan for what cannot be predicted…

"Professor Malcolm has served the school faithfully since his days as a student, first as a Prefect, then later as Head Boy, then later as Professor of Defence Against The Dark Arts and Head of Hufflepuff House. He has sacrificed more than you can know for the sake of Hogwarts, and given the current situation, I can think of no better hands in which to leave the school in case I am unable to continue my duties."

James drummed his fingers against the table in the Great Hall. It had been mere hours since Professor Gladstone's Monday morning address.

"So, just to make sure I'm not hearing things…" Murphy said. "You don't consider the fact that Malcolm was named Acting Temporary Deputy Assistant to the… whatever it is…"

"Acting Deputy Headmaster," James replied. "Not that complicated."

"You don't consider that a problem?" Murphy queried.

"Not an immediate one," James answered. He was careful nowadays to make that distinction. "Tells us two things right from the off. First, she doesn't trust Wenster very much."

"How do you figure that?" asked Murphy.

"Ravenclaws are a logical lot, right?" James posited. "Wenster's the most experience out of anybody at the school. Also, she would've had to know how it would look picking Malcolm."

"Like she's playing favorites and only did it because they're together?" Murphy pointed out. "You're clearly seeing something I'm not here. How did she help herself exactly?"

"Well, first off, she put it out in the open," James said. "Everybody from Greta and Boyd down to Frankie First-Year knows she and Malcolm are seeing each other. Even if someone else had the title, Malcolm has her ear."

"And how is that not a problem?" Murphy asked, still confused.

"He's not going to jeopardize his position - or their relationship," James reasoned. "Especially now that she's given him the title. There's nowhere for him to hide. If she makes a bad decision, people will wonder if he was the one who suggested it. So everything that she does now, comes back on him."

Murphy frowned for a moment. "That makes a little bit of sense, I guess," he finally conceded.

"It's not the best-case scenario," James said, "but right now, it's a damn sight better than Wenster getting any more power than he already has. He's kind of on the outside looking in now. One thing I found out last night - the other Professors and Wenster don't really get along. He's only friendly with two people here - Flitwick and Hagrid."

"Hagrid?" Murphy repeated.

"Yeah," James confirmed.

"That's weird," commented Murphy. James glanced up from his sandwich.

"What do you mean, 'weird'?"

"That's… kind of a personality clash, isn't it?" Murphy wondered. "I mean… Hagrid seems like an alright guy, even if he takes a sketchy line on student safety. While Wenster's…"

"An arsehole, a nutter, and very possibly a terrorist," James finished casually.

Murphy's jaw came unhinged. He seemed stuck for a second, almost as if he wanted badly to come up with a point to argue any of these three claims. This exercise was short and must have been fruitless, because he shrugged after a moment and simply uttered, "...Yeah. So… how do you know Wenster's friendly with Hagrid?"

"Because he threatened to have Hagrid physically carry me to Flitwick's office if I didn't go on my own," James answered. "Or, he said something about a 'large friend'. When I got dressed and came out, Hagrid was standing next to him. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together on that."

Murphy frowned. "Seems to have a hard-on for forcible imprisonment. Which doesn't do anything to disprove your theory. So why would Hagrid even associate with someone like that?"

James paused to take a bite of his sandwich. "Not certain on this, but… Wenster might be one of the few people here at Hogwarts - or anywhere else for that matter - that Hagrid knows from back in his school days."

Murphy had a goblet of pumpkin juice headed up to his mouth but stopped halfway. "Wait… seriously? Those two went to school together?"

"Possibly. I mean, Hagrid's about ninety. I think. And Wenster's about ninety. They were both Gryffindors, so..."

"Wait. Hagrid's ninety?" asked Murphy.

"Yep. Turns ninety-one at the end of the year," a voice joined the conversation, accompanied by a rather large book that James identified by the reddish cover and thick spine.

"Hogwarts, A History," James uttered. "You get that from the library?"

"No, no, this is mine. My Uncle Flynn got it for me for my birthday when I turned thirteen," Rowan Lester said, sitting down next to Murphy, whose jaw was now fully agape.

"You asked for this tome for a birthday present?" he asked. "You're a strange kid, you know that?"

"I read during my spare time," Rowan answered casually. "I was ten years late on the whole 'being-a-wizard' thing. I've got some catching up to do."

James glanced at Murphy, who conceded, "Fair enough. I still think it's odd."

"Anyway," Rowan said, "Hagrid's the tallest ever Hogwarts Professor and the first with giant ancestry, so he's in here. Born in December of 1928."

"Bloody hell, he's really ninety," said Murphy in astonishment. "Hell, he's aged pretty well. I figured he was maaaybe seventy-ish at most. His beard's not even all the way gray yet."

"It's not uncommon for giants - assuming they survive giant politics - to live to be a hundred twenty or even more," Rowan mentioned. "They don't age like us humans."

"Giant politics?" Murphy asked. "They have actual politics? Like, stuff that doesn't involve somebody getting their head bashed in?"

"Well, not really," admitted Rowan darkly. "For a lot of giant tribes, head-bashing is their politics. That's why only a few of them ever live to old age."

James couldn't help but smirk at this.

"So what made you go back to the book?" asked James.

"Well…" Rowan now frowned, looking disappointed. "I was hoping they'd have something in here on our beloved Transfiguration professor…" He glanced up at James and Murphy, signaling to them (if they hadn't figured it out already) that he was being facetious. "But even in a book this size, apparently you've got to do something of consequence to warrant your own section."

"So what you're saying is Wenster's not nearly as important as he thinks he is," James said.

"It would follow. He wasn't involved with the War," Rowan answered. "Or at least wasn't teaching at Hogwarts. Almost anyone who fought in the battle here at the castle was mentioned - no Wenster. Even Trelawney was there."

"You have Trelawney?" asked James.

"God, no," said Rowan with a bit of an uneasy chuckle. "I've got better things to do with my time than decode soggy tea leaves. Plus, I think she drugs her students."

"Drugs?" repeated Murphy.

"I'm pretty sure the whole Divination course runs on drugs," Rowan intoned. Murphy snorted. "If you've been in her incense room for any more than fifteen seconds… But… back to the subject at hand…"

"Yes. Hagrid," James agreed.

"Thinking you should maybe pay him a visit?" Murphy suggested. "We've got a whole day to burn now."

Last among several well-received rulings by the Acting Headmistress was her announcement that 'academic activities will be furloughed and resume at first block tomorrow morning' - or, in plain old English, Monday's classes were cancelled.

James frowned. "Wouldn't look great, me visiting him just to pump him for information when we haven't talked in months. He's probably still pissed off at me for not signing up for his class. Besides, with Neville gone again…"

"Don't…" Rowan cut in hesitantly, grimacing and then pausing as if not fully committed to his upcoming statement. "...quote me on this, because my source was… I guess 'unreliable' is the word? I overheard someone in the common room say Professor Longbottom intends to come back and resume his post after the holidays."

"The holidays?" Murphy groaned. Palming his own face, he murmured, "Merlin's bollocks… I mean… it's better than nothing, but still… God, that's almost three months."

"That's exactly my point," James sighed. "We're going to have to watch our backs. Wenster can't get me chucked out, so he probably going to settle for making my life hell for as long as he can. By the way, Rowan… could you do me a favor?"

"Depends," Rowan replied noncommittally. "What is it?"

James grimaced. "Get a message to Brynne for me."

Rowan tilted his head. "You can do that yourself, you know."

"That's the point," James answered. Taking a deep breath, he relayed something he'd decided upon last night. "I don't know if it's a good idea for her to be seen with me right now. I'm kind of…"

"Hot," Murphy finished.

James paused to look at him. "Wait, what?"

"Not that type of 'hot.' Hit wizard parlance," Murphy explained. "Or, rather, criminal parlance. It's what they call it when something or somebody is drawing too much attention from law enforcement."

"Oh," James said, feeling a bit foolish. Murphy looked surprised.

"You've never heard that before?" he asked.

"Not really," confessed James. "I guess that's pretty accurate, though." He looked at Rowan again. "It's just… I don't want her getting dragged down with me if something happens. We sort of got lucky yesterday."

"...So… after everything that happened yesterday, you want me to tell Brynne to stay away from you?" Rowan asked in a 'let-me-get-this-straight' sort of tone.

James nodded, grimacing apologetically.

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tight, as if trying to rid himself of an encroaching headache. "She's not gonna like that."

"I know," replied James, grimly gazing toward the doors of the Great Hall. "I don't like it either."

Just then, he noticed a few students enter. In the midst of them was a boy with unmistakable black hair.

James stood.

"I'm headed back up to the Tower," he announced.

"Seriously?" Murphy uttered. "We just got here ten minutes ago."

"Stay and eat," James answered. "I'm not that hungry."

And he left without a further word. The black-haired boy was standing at the entrance, looking confused. The girl that was with him seemed to be trying to explain something. James got there first.

"The banners aren't up," he said loudly. He expected the boy to jump. He didn't. (The girl did, and then glared at him venomously.) "Don't forget what Gladstone said this morning."

Albus's hard stare fixed upon James before seeing him and softening a bit. "James."

James reached his hands up and put them on Albus's shoulders.

"Alright?" he asked.

"As much as I can be," Albus answered, not quite meeting James's eye. Then, gently, he raised a hand and pushed one of James's arms away.

"Have you seen Lily?" James inquired. "Since this morning?"

Albus shook his head.

"I heard she's gone back to Slytherin's dungeon. Won't leave," Albus said. There was a pause, then Albus clenched both of his fists, his body going sharply rigid for a moment before relaxing.

And James was stuck. He had no idea what to say right now. He had no idea what Albus was even thinking.

In the end, he decided to just walk away - before Albus's voice stopped him.

"James."

James, at the threshold of the door already, stopped and turned to look over his shoulder.

"I'd watch out for McLaggen if I were you," Albus said.

"McLaggen?" James repeated, confused.

"He's gone off the rails over this whole thing," Albus explained. "Already went after Scorpius in the dorms last night and Tommy had to break them up. I wouldn't put it past him to try to start something-"

James shouldn't have been shocked. Of course losing him and Scorpius for the rest of the team would hurt Gryffindor's chances of winning the cup. And with the recent loss, they had already been in a hole to begin with. McLaggen would understand that and only that. Also, the fact that he was (for some reason nobody could quite figure out) Stephan Vaisey's only friend couldn't have made things any better. But James couldn't let Albus worry any more than he already was.

"He won't," he answered calmly before turning to leave. "Because he knows I'd finish it."

Albus

Albus watched his brother walk away, then looked up toward the ceiling of the Great Hall. It was blue and clear overhead, just like the sky outside. And typically, out of the ceiling (seemingly out of the sky itself) hung four massive banners, each over a table, and each bearing the emblem of one of the four Hogwarts Houses.

But it was just as James had said… the banners were gone.

"For months now, I have watched as the student body has become more and more fractured. And while I deferred to the Headmaster's leadership and decision-making… to be completely honest, he did many things in handling the situation that I did not agree with. He opted in many ways to avert risk - to attempt to keep you all safe. His intentions were good, and maybe even necessary for a time. But part of my job - part of all of our jobs as Hogwarts Professors - is not simply to teach you all the magical arts. I believe I speak for every professor and instructor up here at this table when I say that we take very seriously the task of overseeing your transformation into useful, fully functioning members of wizarding society. Once a student begins attending Hogwarts, he or she spends at least three times as much time with teachers or peers here at this castle than at home. For seven years. Hogwarts represents a society all its own. You learn together, you eat together, you sleep in the same rooms within the same walls. This castle is your city, the young men and ladies to each side of you your neighbors. And a city can only endure unrest and infighting for so long. Sooner or later, it will crumble unless it - unless we - make a conscious effort to come together and heal.

"I believe in Hogwarts. And I believe in this student body to find its way again. Some may call that 'naive' - I call it necessary. For our society - both Hogwarts and the greater wizarding world - unity is not an option. It is essential to our continued survival and progress. And it is in that spirit… that I declare the Great Hall a neutral ground. The House tables are discontinued indefinitely."

Albus glanced at the table near the wall, where he and the other Gryffindors had been sitting just hours before when Professor Gladstone made the announcement. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who typically got along well when they were made to interact, were jubilant. Albus even felt like something that might have been happiness. He wasn't sure anymore, though. So he had clapped politely along with the applause of a few of his housemates, sad that he couldn't feel happier.

A lot of things had broken yesterday, and a restless night later, he emerged from his four-poster bed an inscrutably different person than he had been when he awoke on Sunday morning. It was as if some of the color had gone out of his world.

"Here's as good as anywhere, I guess…"

Some of the color, not all.

Dark curls bounced against a tan face and a scarlet cardigan in front of him. She was his constant, his Polaris now that he had found his own soul and identity adrift. For just a moment, he was able to block out the other images - misleading stars made of stone lions and smoke and curses and blood and charred flesh…

"Al."

Something like an electric shock coursed up his arm, tensing his entire body; it took a long moment for him to realize it was only her hand.

Only her hand…

"Al, let's please sit down." There was a tremor in her voice that snapped him back to reality. "Seriously. I know it's been a rough weekend, but… you're not yourself."

"Of course I'm myself," Albus bit back, rather more confrontationally than he ever spoke to… well, anyone. She noticed it, too. She recoiled. Question is… who the hell is that now?

"You've got to be hungry, right?" she asked. "You haven't eaten since yesterday."

She was right about that; he'd had his last meal coming up on a full day previously. He'd had less than no appetite at breakfast that day. In fact, anything he would have tried to force down very well might have come back up. He followed her, her electric touch… and sat down at one of the middle tables in the seat to her left.

He took a plate and set it before himself. A quill and a thin strip of paper appeared. Hastily, he wrote, "TOAST, JAM, ORANGE" and set the quill and parchment down upon the plate, where they disappeared in a luminescent blur. In the next moment, two slices of toasted bread were on his plate, along with a knife and a cup that must have contained the jam he'd requested. He hadn't specified the flavor. He didn't mind any of the ones the school had on offer, really. However, next to the bread and jam was something he hadn't been quite expecting; an orange, round and plump, almost too big to hold in one hand.

"What-?" he uttered hesitantly. He heard a sad groan escape him. "Oh. Blimey, I wanted orange juice, not an entire orange."

"That's not what you wrote," Sylvia said a bit hesitantly, as if unsure of what Albus's reaction would be. "I watched… here, I've got an idea."

She grabbed her own plate, took up her own quill, scribbled on her own piece of parchment. Her plate produced two chicken legs, a clump of greens Albus instantly knew was only there for show on the off chance her father came walking into the Great Hall during their meal (although he'd gone back home to London, Albus thought), and a tall glass of orange juice.

"You take that - oh-" she plopped the orange juice in front of him rather too enthusiastically and let out a swear as the goblet's contents sloshed up and dangerously close to spilling over the edge. "Sorry - and I'll take this."

But Albus was already moving the large orange off his plate to clear room. Instead of the orange, he got a handful of skin.

"Ah," Albus uttered, yanking his hand back suddenly. After a moment's hesitation, Sylvia grabbed hold of the orange rather quickly and placed it near her own plate. There was a long, awkward silence. "Are you… actually going to eat that?"

"Later," Sylvia answered, suddenly becoming very busy with cutting up her chicken drumsticks.

Albus frowned. "Later? Like, you're going to smuggle it out? You know they don't like that…"

Sylvia already had her mouth full. She seemed not to notice this, however, until she turned to respond to Albus. Then, she averted her head really quickly (as if hiding her face from Albus would somehow also hide the fact that she was eating like any other human being) and swallowed.

"I'm sure they won't miss one orange," Sylvia said with a borderline sardonic air. Albus finally felt a smile creep across his face. Somehow, some way, she hadn't changed at all.

No, that was wrong. She had changed. She was… he didn't know how to describe it. It was as if some of the rougher edges of her personality had been sanded away, just a bit. It was as if… instead of speaking two vastly different languages, they were speaking the same one with slightly different accents.

"You're spacing out again," she said. Albus snapped back once again and realized he'd been staring.

"Oh, uh…" he looked at his plate abashedly.

"Is everything…" Sylvia started - but then stopped. Albus looked up.

"What?" he uttered, and was surprised to find Sylvia staring at her own plate guiltily.

"That was a dumb-arse question," she said disdainfully, almost as if angry at herself. "Never mind I said anything. So… have you talked to either of them?"

Albus frowned. "I don't think anyone's gonna change his mind about it at this point."

'He' was Scorpius. 'It' was his future plans. Now barred from playing Quidditch and a virtual pariah in Gryffindor House, Scorpius, in his own estimation, had nothing left at Hogwarts. And since his parents were wealthy and didn't need the school for his education in the slightest, his 'plan' was to leave Hogwarts when winter break came around. Except, unlike the other students, he wouldn't be on the Hogwarts Express when it left King's Cross again in January.

In short, Scorpius was leaving Hogwarts, and not coming back.

"I mean…" Sylvia murmured. "I get it. But I don't get it. Sure, it sucks that he's banned from Quidditch and, honestly, it's probably not fair, but…"

"That's just it," Albus told her, reaching for the knife to scoop some jam from his cup. "It never is fair with Scorpius, is it? Never has been. He always gets screwed, no matter what he does. Maybe… maybe he's better off not coming back to Hogwarts."

"How can you say that?" asked Sylvia. "I know things have been weird the last few months, but I thought you were friends…"

"Of course we are, that's why I don't want him to come back!" Albus exclaimed. "Not if he's just going to be miserable and suffer. I'm sick... of seeing the people I care about suffering…"

"Al," Sylvia called in an alarmingly tiny voice, and Albus knew something was wrong. He snapped back to reality a third time and took a look at his hands, both of which were clenched into fists. In one of his fists was the butter knife - although it hardly resembled a butter knife any longer. The length of solid metal had bent at the middle of the blade, nearly double.

It was ironic, really. He had heard it said that in the Muggle world, they thought that the ability to bend a spoon with no physical force was a sign of magical power. One would assume that such a thing was ridiculous to wizards. Actually, it was one of the most common 'Shows' for a young wizard or witch, not at all rare in toddlers and small children. In a thirteen-year-old, however, it was a sign that one's growing magical power was erratic… not completely under control.

He released the broken utensil as if its shaft had been burning hot and then, almost as if outside of himself, heard it hit the table with a clatter.

He jumped to his feet, feeling his heart pounding out of his chest and overcome with a strong urge to punch something.

"Albus," Sylvia called, this time more urgently.

"I need to go for a walk," Albus said. "Clear my head."

"I'll come with you," Sylvia said without hesitation. "We can walk… to the edge of the grounds." She paused. "Maybe off the edge of the grounds. Maybe we can just keep walking - keep walking and not look back."

Albus sighed. "Sylvia…"

"Yes, I know it's mad," she replied quickly. "It's just… I wish I knew what to do, but I don't."

Her voice broke just barely on the last two words. A switch flipped in Albus's brain. Everything slowed back down to normal again and he felt a grim sense of calm wash over him.

Slowly, he sat down again.

"I think I do," he said.

Brynne

Despite the freedom afforded them by an unexpected day off, Hogwarts Castle and the grounds without seemed unusually quiet. Granted, this wasn't typically a place students massed if they were to go outside - they typically kept to the breezeways between castle wings, or maybe the Black Lake if it was nice enough. (It wasn't. The mid-autumn breeze was growing chilly, and Brynne pulled her coat around herself as it blew once again.)

She let out a sigh. Rowan had relayed a message to her from James earlier. She couldn't say she had found it surprising. He was trying to protect her. He was always trying to protect her. She didn't need it nearly as much as he always thought she did.

But the last time they were separated, she had been left alone, doubting, wondering. There would be none of that now. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again. This time was different. This time, she knew. She knew how he felt about her, and she about him. There would be no shaking that now. Not after yesterday. Things could not possibly be the same. And that was good.

Rowan, she had sent back.

"You don't need me?" he'd asked.

And she had told him, "Of course I do. But he's going to need you more."

And he had understood. He had the gift of anonymity and keeping low to the ground, so to speak. Apparently he'd made it back into Gryffindor Tower amidst all the hubbub with no one being any the wiser that he'd been remotely involved. But James would need his mind. Not that James or Murphy weren't clever - but Rowan had an attention to detail that was beyond either of theirs. And not only was he adept in gathering information, but he had a thirst for it. He could gather much, and quickly; a perfect foil for someone like James, who liked to act with urgency.

But some people would call it impatience, Brynne thought, smiling to herself. She, on the other hand, was learning by necessity the art of the long game. After all, if she ever managed to achieve her life dream, it would not be for several decades. She hadn't mastered waiting, but she had found herself being gifted chances to practice it successfully.

For example, she had waited a year…

CLACK.

CLACK.

CLACK.

"What's on your mind?" a girl's voice asked from somewhere to her right. "You know what? Don't answer that. You're smiling, so I know what - or who."

Brynne shook her head. "I didn't think you were going to show up."

"Funny, that," the other girl replied. "I didn't think I was, either."

"Changed your mind?" Brynne queried.

"Of course not," the other girl answered, as if offended the question had been asked. Brynne finally glanced at her and noticed that she was brushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. "But you've changed yours, haven't you?"

"Not 'changed'," Brynne corrected her. "It's just… it's become clearer what needs to happen now."

"Mind telling any of us?" Tellius Nott's voice called from behind Brynne. She turned around, to find Nott standing at some distance from Kadric Howell (who was all alone and seemed to be mentally elsewhere). The Albertine brothers from Ravenclaw had appeared as well. But there was another girl there with them. She was tall and spindle-thin, with a long nose serving as a rest for a pair of round, studious-looking glasses. Her hair was jet black and braided back in a businesslike way that didn't quite do it justice. Brynne recognized her from a few double periods… but what was she doing here?

"You've met Madhari Rama, right?" Serra asked.

"Sort of," Brynne glanced at Serra, and then at Madhari. True, Madhari was in her year and they had sat a handful of classes together (including Double Defence periods, which Slytherin had with Ravenclaw this year), but they had never talked. To be fair, Madhari seemingly never talked to anyone.

"Serra suggested I come with her to hear what you had to say," Madhari announced. There was a naked kind of skepticism in her voice, and Brynne wondered whether it was directed at her specifically, or if Madhari was just like that by nature. Given her obvious introversion and discomfort with being around so many people, Brynne guessed the latter. Then Brynne's brain jolted as she remembered another girl that looked like Madhari - but smaller and younger. Madhari's little sister was in Slytherin House, a first year in the same room as Lily. Which would explain why she decided to come here, Brynne thought.

She walked right up to the girl, whom she had thought at a distance was a bit taller than she was. She was wrong. Madhari was almost a full head taller than she was, to the point where one could almost be forgiven for not realizing the two were the same age, give or take a few months.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. Madhari's body language was guarded.

Quietly, Brynne extended a hand. Madhari seemed not to know what to make of it for a moment, but at least had enough politeness to shake it. Brynne looked her right in the eyes - up at her, of course.

"Did you learn to duel before you came here?" asked Brynne, remembering having observed her in Double Defence practicals. "You're very good."

"Thank you," Madhari replied, clearly not comfortable with this praise and attention at all. "Erm… both of my parents worked for Magical Law Enforcement. Well, one still does…"

"Our parents know each other from years back," Serra explained. Brynne couldn't say she was shocked. Serra's parents knew mostly everybody, it seemed.

"That makes it sound like they were friends," Madhari said, showing her first sign of bristling. "They weren't, really."

"It wasn't anything personal. You know that," Serra replied. "Your father was trying to do his job, and so was mine. But that's beside the point." She turned her head to address Brynne. "Madhari's father - you might have heard of him. Eric Rama?"

Brynne pursed her lips. "Eric Rama. Doesn't ring any sort of bell."

Serra frowned. "Huh. Guess you're not in London as much…"

"Only ever for the train," replied Brynne. Indeed, her only experience with London was King's Cross Station. Somewhat to her disappointment, she hadn't even seen Diagon Alley yet.

"Well…" Serra balked for a moment. "He's fairly important."

"He's a District Chief for the London patrols," Nott suddenly piped in. "Every Magical Law Enforcement Patrolman in and around London answers to him."

"That's… great, I guess," Howell muttered. "But in case you haven't noticed this, we're nowhere the hell near London. Even if he could do anything - and he can't, if I understand the laws right - this is out of his jurisdiction."

"Technically, yes," Nott answered. "If Magical Law Enforcement ever sent anyone here, it would probably be from Glasgow. But the difference between the London Chief and all the other ones - the London Chief works in the Ministry of Magic Building and sees Robards in person every day."

Kadric Howell's eyes popped up at the mention of 'Robards.' Then, he glanced at Madhari as if seeing her in a new light.

"That changes things, I guess," he said.

Brynne typically didn't pay a tremendous amount of attention to the politics of Wizarding Britain. She knew who the Minister was, and the names of the Heads of a few important departments (like the Auror Office - obviously.) One of the names she did know was Robards, who had been an Auror himself a generation past - and was now Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Brynne looked at Serra. "You brought us someone you thought I could use."

Serra frowned. "She has a vested interest," she said defensively. "But, yes, she's well-connected. That doesn't hurt, does it?"

Brynne looked up at Madhari for a moment.

"What about the rest of your family?" she asked.

Madhari seemed surprised by this question. "Well… my mum… she worked as an Auror once. But not for long. Now she owns a shop in Knockturn Alley in London... imported artifacts from Southeast Asia. She has a twin sister - my aunt - but I've never met her in person. She left to go to America not long after the war. Years before I was born. I don't think she's set foot in Britain since."

Brynne tilted her head. "Interesting coincidence. My mum was a twin, too."

Madhari was taken aback. "...Was?"

"She died," Brynne explained. "When I was still a baby."

Madhari's jaw opened just a bit. "So, it's true, then. What I've heard about you."

"If you mean Gladius Leo, then yes," Brynne confirmed. "It's true."

With that, she turned away.

"Godric's Guard isn't Gladius Leo. They've done some awful things, but they've stopped well short of torture and murder," Brynne said more loudly, addressing everybody. "But they were both built on the same… paranoia and distrust. Gladstone was exactly right. Hogwarts is my home - all of ours. And if we allow just anyone to track poison inside our home, do we really care about it?"

Brynne contemplated silently for a moment. It was a bold thing, what she was asking - but no less bold than the last thing she had asked. And a hundred times more believable.

"Professor Flitwick, assuming that he pulls through, might decide to retire after this," Brynne reasoned. "And when he does, the next Headmaster will be voted on by the Board of Governors. They won't pick Gladstone. They'll want someone with some experience."

Howell's jaw unhinged, his eyes growing wide. "God. No."

"You really think they would? Didn't they pass over him last time?" asked Nott. "And wasn't his being a Hardliner brought up as an issue?"

"They had a choice that was easier to swallow three years ago." Mark Albertine was a fifth year, and had been at Hogwarts when Madam McGonagall retired and Headmaster Flitwick was appointed to take his place. "What happens when they don't?"

"What happens," Howell replied, his voice hollow with horror, "is that Lucan Wenster becomes the next Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Right," Brynne assented. "Which means, in a lot of ways, he'd become the most powerful wizard in Britain outside of the Minister of Magic. And you seen what he's done with a fraction of that power."

"Are you talking about yesterday?" queried Mark Albertine. "I've got no soft spot for Professor Wenster, but Godric's Guard aren't under any sort of Imperius Curse or anything. They can think and act on their own. I hear the Gryffindor boys that caused most of the trouble were even disavowed -"

Brynne rounded on him.

"You Ravenclaws are clever, so answer this for me," she said. "If you set a dog loose - a dog you know is rabid and will bite strangers - and it bites a stranger, is that the dog's fault, or is it yours?"

"I guess it depends on-" Mark was trying to logic himself out of the question, but Brynne was having none of it.

"No, it doesn't." she interrupted. "He sent them. He sent them down to our dungeon - knowing what type of people they were and what might happen. He can't claim ignorance. So either he knew, and didn't care… or he knew and that's exactly why he did it."

Mark Albertine's younger brother, Matthias, had said little to nothing since they had started. But here, he finally spoke up, looking at Mark. "It's pretty scummy when you put it that way. Don't you think, Serra?"

Mark frowned, glancing at Serra for a moment, and then back at his brother. "That's not fair, Matty."

Serra folded her arms. "Slytherin's got some problematic characters as well… like your mate Bletchley."

She shot a look at Nott, who snapped back. "The Progenies never would have started if Wenster and Godric's Guard hadn't been targeting Slytherins. You think they - you think we - wanted to fight? Of course not. Slytherin would've been perfectly alright just letting everyone else be."

"Okay - so what was the deal with the Addison kid?" asked Serra probingly.

"We never figured that out either!" Nott said, clearly boiling hot at this point. It took a lot for him to lose his temper or even raise his voice. "For all we know, Wenster could have sent a couple of Gryffindors to dress up as Slytherins and attack their own first year just so he could have an excuse to set this entire thing off!"

This was met with a long silence and a lot of exchanged glances.

"Blimey. That sounds about half as ridiculous as it should," Mark Albertine said grimly. "That's scary. Is that what the Progenies think happened, Nott?"

"You'd be shocked what the Progenies think Professor Wenster's capable of doing," Nott replied, a dark tone to his voice as he raised both eyebrows.

"Care to elaborate?" Serra queried.

Brynne could have sworn Nott glanced at her for a moment. But it was probably a trick of the light. She and Serra were standing in the same general area, after all. The boy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, "I don't think what the Progenies think Wenster has done matters much at this point. We know some of the things he's been responsible for. We know he's unsafe and can't be allowed any more power. Can we at least agree on that much?"

A few people nodded. Brynne said firmly, feeling her fists clench almost unconsciously in anger.

"Lucan Wenster is an enemy of Hogwarts. And somehow, some way… he has to be stopped." She glanced significantly at Serra, who had her arms folded and did not verbally agree as much as shoot Brynne a, "well, I'm not going to argue with you," look in return. "But I can't stop him alone. I don't have that power. And even if I did, doing this alone would take more time than we have. So I need your help."

It almost felt odd, coming out of her mouth. She hadn't ever said that she didn't need anyone's help. But she's never told any of them that she did.

"I'm with you," Nott said, stepping forward. "Not just for Slytherin - for all of Hogwarts."

Brynne smiled. Deep, deep down, she had known Nott was never truly lost.

"All of Hogwarts," repeated Kadric. "This is the only real home I have. So nothing's changed."

"Nothing?" queried Brynne knowingly.

Kadric Howell grimaced for a moment, then looked away. He didn't do a good job of hiding it. He was still angry.

Only difference was, now Brynne had a feeling she knew why. It had hit her that morning, like a lightning bolt of inspiration. But looking back on it the last few months, the signs had always been there, and she had simply been too thick to notice.

She was typically perceptive about people - a fact in which she took a degree of pride. But this, she had missed. Until now.

"You didn't ask her back," he finally said.

Brynne smiled sadly. "No," she answered. "I didn't."

"That tells me all I need to know, then," he replied.

She didn't consider it an insult to have her character tested - by Kadric or by anyone. In fact, she welcomed it. If people fell in behind you without having the option to say 'no' or ask questions, that wasn't leadership. That was lordship. Lordship was not what she wanted; lordship let others take the spears and arrows while it watched from on high, shouting out orders for everyone to just try harder. It was at the top of the slippery slope to tyranny, in her opinion.

"A lot of Ravenclaws think this whole thing is between Gryffindor and Slytherin. They think we should mind our own business," Serra remarked. "Personally, I've never been good at minding my own business. I guess it's in the blood."

"I get that," Mark Albertine piped in. "You really think all this is necessary, though? Even with Professor Gladstone trying to piece things back together?"

"We can't let anyone undo that, right?" Serra queried. Mark thought for a moment. "It's like Brynne said. Either Flitwick comes back, or he dies or retires and the Board of Governors picks a new Headmaster for next year. It won't be Gladstone."

Mark folded his arms. "Trying to destroy the Sorting Hat sounds more sane than this," he remarked, shaking his head.

"Does it really?" asked Serra.

Mark grimaced. Then he rounded on Brynne.

"I don't like to dance around the truth, so I'm just going to say it," he said. "You're probably sincere in believing you're doing the right thing. That's great for you. But sincerity is only gonna get you so far in the real world. I think you're setting yourself up for disappointment. Perhaps even something worse."

Brynne stared at him silently for a moment, contemplating her answer.

"What do we actually know about the real world, Mark?" Matthias asked suddenly.

The question wrought a chance in Mark's face. His blue eyes glazed over. Brynne could tell that his little brother's question had taken on a meaning deeper to him than what one listening would have assumed. There was a story there.

"Only ever a fraction of what we think we do," he finally said with a distant tone, almost as if he was quoting or reciting something he had heard said long ago. His eyes were downcast. Then he looked down at his little brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "Matty -"

"Don't think about it," Matthias interrupted. "Besides, I can handle myself alright."

Mark sighed. Then he glanced at Brynne.

"We're in."

"I want to help, too… if I can," Madhari said from behind them quietly. It was the first time Brynne could remember hearing her speak unprompted outside of answering the very occasional question in class. She walked past the Albertine boys to stand in front of Brynne.

"Are you sure?" Brynne asked seriously, a bit surprised at her eagerness.

Madhari nodded.

"This is all very inspiring," Howell commented. "But what do we do now?"

Brynne thought for a moment… looked down at her shoes. The weather outside was nearly as cold as the castle had become inside. And she hated it. She hated all of it. She wanted her home - their home - back.

So she looked up at Howell, and Nott, and the others.

"What we do is…" she paused for a moment. "...we drain the poison."