Chapter 29: Unseen Shield, Unseen Sword

"Definitely Cobbing. Led with the elbow."

"That wasn't his elbow, it was his shoulder."

"Okay, fine. Then, it's Blatching."

"That's not Blatching, either. They were flying parallel, both playing the Quaffle. It wasn't Cobbing or Blatching or any other sort of foul. Your dad just missed it."

"What do you think, Alb-"

"Nope."

Albus threw up his hands and walked forward several steps. He turned around and found Sylvia and his cousin, Hugo, exchanging glances with each other and then him. Hugo had found the two in the halls and accosted Sylvia about a foul her father had called in that afternoon's Quidditch match. His and Hugo's cousin Louis had finally gotten into a match playing Chaser for Ravenclaw, only to be reamed out by Ravenclaw's short-tempered Beater, Donaghan Craig, and put back on the bench by the club's captain, Auraleigh Conway, after being called by Sylvia's father for a foul that may or may not have been questionable.

Long story short, Hugo was defending his cousin, Sylvia was defending her dad, and now both of them were disagreeing with each other and asking Albus to pick a side.

Albus, of course, wanted no part of this.

"'Nope' as in, you don't think it was Blatching?" asked Sylvia, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm not getting into this argument," Albus finally replied flatly. "I barely know the difference between Blatching and Blumphing in the first place."

"Oh, that's bull-" Hugo started hotly.

"Weasley!" a faux-commanding girl's voice called as a blonde walked past them. "Watch the language."

Hugo rolled his eyes mutinously. "Piss off, Dominique, you're not my mum," he answered rudely.

"No, but I do know where she lives and can send her an owl," Dominique Weasley pointed out, raising her eyebrows behind her glasses. Albus wasn't sure if she was being entirely serious or just taking the mickey out of a family member.

Either way, the threat didn't seem to intimidate Hugo one bit. With a bit of a roll of his eyes, he said, "Good luck with that. Might get to her some time this year."

Hugo didn't explain further than that, but Dominique seemed to fill in the blanks mentally. She frowned and walked away without a further word.

"She must be getting bored," Hugo remarked. Glancing at Albus, he added, "Anyway, there's no way you don't know the difference between Blatching and Blumphing. How many of Aunt Ginny's games did you see?"

"None of them," Albus groaned, trying to fight down a twinge of annoyance. "Mum retired when she got pregnant with James - like, two years before I was born. I thought I've mentioned that about a hundred times."

Hugo folded his arms. "You should still know the rules, though. That's so basic."

"Says the bloke that doesn't know what Blatching is," Sylvia said offhandedly, not looking at Hugo. Hugo whipped his head in her direction and fumed petulantly. He went to say something, but stopped mid-sentence. Then he tried again. Then, finally giving up on whatever he was about to say, he walked off huffily.

"Forgot something, did you?" Albus watched as a girl approached Hugo from a blind spot in his vision. He hadn't seen her at first, and jumped when he did.

"Oh," he stammered. "Hey, Khalilah."

"Hey?" the girl put her hands on her hips. "You and Ethan left me at the Wall all by myself!"

"Ethan's sick. And I didn't see you at breakfast, so I figured you weren't going to show up," Hugo murmured, playing with his curls awkwardly. Albus noticed his cousin not meeting Khalilah's dark eyes - which, to be fair, were shooting daggers at him.

Albus next glanced up to the staircase, where he saw (and it took him a moment to recognize her because of her new hairstyle) Rose, trudging down the staircase slowly, almost as if exhausted. But then she appeared to catch sight of Hugo, and her funeral march suddenly turned into a brisk run. Before Hugo could react and duck away, she pulled her brother into a smothering hug.

"What the-" Hugo muttered, the bit of his face that Albus could see going pink almost instantly. "Rose, not now."

Rose wasn't listening.

"Are you okay?" she asked, holding him out at arm's length.

"Okay?" Hugo repeated impatiently. "I just went to go watch the match. Where were you?"

"I found something better to do," Rose answered with unnatural, unnerving brightness. "I don't care much about Quidditch. You know that."

Hugo noticed something. His head tilted, and his expression changed. "Wait - what's with your f-"

Rose interrupted him by pulling him into another hug and, for good measure, pecking him atop his curly-clouded head. Then she whisked away, leaving Hugo embarrassed and utterly flummoxed. His first year friend, Khalilah, giggled. Hugo scowled, his cheeks and ears both pink now. Meanwhile, Albus and Sylvia turned their attention back to Rose, who was walking toward them… then by them. Albus opened his mouth to say… something. He wasn't sure what. But as she approached and then passed, he could not help but notice…

"Damn," swore Sylvia at a whisper after Rose was out of earshot. "Al, did you see that?"

"Hard not to," replied Albus, cringing a bit.

"What happened?" queried Sylvia. "Looks like somebody got her good."

"You think she was in a fight?"

"Had to be. How else do you get that kind of bruise?" Sylvia postulated. "I'm not sure if that was some sort of curse or if somebody punched her."

"Maybe it was both," theorized Albus.

"Both?"

"Clout Jinx?" he suggested. The Clout Jinx was a minor curse that summoned a burst of pressure to strike a target. According to Professor Malcolm, who had taught it to the third years back in the fall, it had come into widespread use during his own school days - so, about fifteen or so years back. Much like a physical blunt blow, if forceful enough or well placed it could knock someone unconscious. In Rose's case, it appeared that she may have taken one to the face at some point recently. The skin under one of her eyes, typically milky-pale, was swollen and a nasty wine red color.

"Maybe," Sylvia agreed, letting out a sigh.

"I thought you didn't care what happened to Rose," Albus pointed out.

"I don't," Sylvia replied sourly, folding her arms and looking away from him. "I'd like to find whoever did it and thank them."

Albus frowned, but knew he had to let it go. If he was being objective - still a hard thing for him when it came to Rose - she had more than earned the dislike of Sylvia, Scorpius, and others. She hadn't exactly been an easy person to be friends with, even before the "incident" last November; she was standoffish, uptight, socially awkward, shy…

But Albus had much preferred that version to the rude, brooding, erratic person that he now somewhat knew. Come to think of it, he may have preferred the old version of himself, too - the one that didn't find himself constantly on edge and waiting, if only unconsciously, for the next fight to break out.

"You ever think sometimes…" Sylvia asked, a bit haltingly. But then she shook her head and looked away from Albus. "Never mind."

"No, say it," Albus replied very forcefully. He didn't realize how forcefully he'd answered until Sylvia gave him a strange look - not unlike the look she'd given him a few times in the days following that duel in the courtyard. It was a look that said that she wasn't entirely aware that Albus had such a side to him, and that it scared her just a little bit. For Albus's part…. well, he didn't really know. Maybe it was one more person keeping something from him was one too many. "Say it," he repeated, quieter, this time, not meeting her eye.

"I talk to my Dad about a lot of things… when I can," Sylvia added. Albus noted that, now that it was spring, he didn't see Sylvia's father around the castle as often. With flying classes for the first years long since at an end, Dean Thomas's only real use around Hogwarts Castle was when an Arbiter was needed for the Quidditch matches. And there were only a few of those per season. There was a look of something unspoken in Sylvia's brown eyes as they darted away from Albus's face. She didn't want to say it, probably at the risk of looking a bit uncool… for what that was worth (Not bloody much, Albus thought to himself.) But she missed her father terribly.

"Like what?" asked Albus quietly.

"Quidditch and… stuff." Sylvia's reply had a meaningful pause in the middle. At least Albus thought it may have been meaningful. He couldn't begin to decipher what the meaning might have been. A smirk, wry, not quite bitter but not her typical mischief-colored offering, creased Sylvia's lips. "I have to talk to someone in that house, anyway. God knows me and my mum don't get on."

Albus's face fell. By now, he'd accepted that it wasn't going to be something that was going to change. Still, the thought of someone just not getting on with their own mother just didn't make much sense to him. Maybe family members butted heads at times… sure, that seems pretty normal, Albus thought sadly, remembering in that moment that his brother and sister weren't speaking.

"Have you ever wondered sometimes…" It seemed like Sylvia was on her way back to her original question. "...If it'd be simpler to just… I dunno… not grow up?"

Albus, just out of general frustration, was a bit snarkier with his reply than he had meant to be. "Growing up? Is that what all this is?"

Sylvia gave a sigh. "Never mind. Hey, listen, I'm still having trouble with that last potion Ambrose showed us…"

"You mean, the Flameguard Potion?" Albus, who was more than fair at Potions, asked.

"Is that what it's called?" responded Sylvia, frowning. "I thought it was the Flame-Freezing Potion."

"Same difference, I think," Albus muttered to himself. "You just need salamander blood…"

"I know the ingredients," Sylvia interrupted. "It's the actual brewing that's giving me trouble. Kind of… how everything fits together, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Albus mused, thinking about something different.

But he would not get an answer. Just more questions. The following Wednesday, after they left Transfiguration, Rose accosted Desmond McLaggen in the halls. McLaggen, probably, was on his way to take the day's courseload to wherever Vaisey was hidden away. Rose knew that, and asked McLaggen to give their Gryffindor classmate her greetings.

Predictably, this didn't go over well. McLaggen already had reason to be sore at Rose.

"He tried to stick up for me after Rose slapped me," Sylvia explained to Albus at one point, still flummoxed as to why. "Arse. Only wound up getting himself hexed for his trouble."

McLaggen started yelling at Rose - which was very telling of how upset he was, Albus thought. Whatever his other flaws, he was typically a gentleman where girls were concerned. Possibly more frightening was Rose's reaction (or lack thereof) to this. Even the other lads often got a bit uncomfortable when McLaggen flew off the handle. As you would; he was bigger than the others and his voice had already started to deepen, which made him even more intimidating. But Rose just stood there silently, taking every insult and imprecation McLaggen was throwing at her. When McLaggen finally burned himself out, huffing and puffing in what had become an obvious attempt to stop anyone from noticing that his eyes were watering, Rose only asked one question:

"Are you done yet?"

So cutting was the delivery, so dismissive in how void it was of any inflection or any indication that McLaggen's behavior gave Rose the least bit of pause, that Albus almost knew that only two things could happen after that; McLaggen would either walk away in silence, or he would pull his wand.

He did the latter - because, of course he did. Then Rose pulled hers…

But then someone stepped between them, pushing Rose back.

Albus saw the face. "No!" he shouted, starting forward. McLaggen and Rose dueling was one thing (and McLaggen would have lost. Badly.) But if McLaggen and this person started exchanging hexes...

Luckily, things escalated no further. With an ominous, "If there's any bloody justice in the world, both of you will get yours," McLaggen lowered his wand and walked away.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rose hissed to the boy that had forced himself between them a few moments later. "I don't remember asking you to save me from him."

Phillip Bletchley whipped around.

"I'm not saving you from him," he replied, a sour look on his face. "I'm saving you from doing something incredibly stupid."

And he started to part from her - it appeared that Marsha Flint and Amara Zabini were a ways off down the hall, waiting for him and both looking very annoyed at this sidetrack from wherever they had been going. Rose, though, stopped Bletchley in his tracks with three words.

"I found it."

Bletchley didn't move for a while. When he finally spoke, only one tremulous word came out: "Don't."

"You want proof, don't you?" Rose replied.

Bletchley turned around and took a stride toward her. "I already told you -"

"You're scared. I get it," Rose interrupted him. "And you should be. If this comes back on you lot, you may have to answer to him for it. But if you get in the way of justice for my family, you will have to answer to me."

"Justice… that's an interesting way of saying 'revenge'," Bletchley replied cynically. "So, are you just gonna tear through everyone that's in the way of what you want?"

"Yes," Rose answered with blunt immediacy.

Bletchley looked away from her. His nostrils flared as he heaved a sigh.

"I think I liked the shy girl a lot better," Bletchley commented.

"No, you didn't," deadpanned Rose without missing a beat. "You never even spoke to her."

Bletchley actually chuckled at this as he turned his back. He walked away to join his friends, who were both glaring over their shoulders at Rose as the three disappeared down the hallway.

"Did any of that make any sense to you?" Sylvia asked, as she and Albus watched Rose walk off without a further word.

"Not a bit," Albus answered grimly. He left the second part of his answer unspoken. But does anything nowadays?

James

James's knees throbbed underneath him as he tried to keep his feet down the steep hill leading from the covered bridge to the Hogwarts grounds. Hagrid's hut was down in this direction, but James's appointment was not there. Trying to move quickly and yet not outstrip his companions, ("Slow down, will you?" groused Murphy from behind him) James fumbled around his belt buckle.

"James," Brynne called, her voice imploring again as it had done for most of this walk. But James's mind was made up already.

The group came into sight at the stone pillars partways down the hill. James's eyes immediately settled on the two tallest, blondest figures. As the ground leveled off, he tore across the remaining distance, his fingers finally grasping around his wand. "Serra!"

One of three wizards, a lad, immediately interposed himself between James and a girl and shorter, portlier boy, pulling his own wand and extending it with a long arm.

Things went silent and still for a moment.

"Careful, Potter." He was sixteen at most (a fifth year, if James recalled correctly), but was tall, strapping, with the voice of a grown man and a calm but respect-commanding bearing. It took practically no time at all for James to figure out why Professor Gladstone, at one point what seemed an age ago, had nominated this lad to be one of Ravenclaw's Prefects. Still, though, James had seen worse, and at the moment, Mark Albertine was just in the way. "You don't want to do anything stupid. I could-"

"I'm sure you could do a whole lot of things... but you won't," James cut him off, a dangerous edge in his own voice.

"James!" Brynne exclaimed, forcing herself in front of James and trying to push him backward. "James. Calm down."

"I'm perfectly calm," James said; even as the words escaped his lips, though, his voice quavered with the effort of trying not to explode. "Just trying to find out what side everybody's on - that's all."

"You know, I always kind of noticed that about you," Serra's voice came from behind Mark. "You don't deal very well when people have original thoughts. You and Richard are a match made in heaven. A control freak and a born follower. There's a place for people like that. But I want something different."

James hadn't noticed Murphy approaching behind him - nonetheless, he didn't appreciate Serra's disdain for his best mate. He frowned.

"What's that?" he asked. Raising his voice as he noticed several other students around them, he added, "I'm sure everyone would like to hear why you betrayed Brynne."

"'Betrayed'... interesting word," Serra said. "That would mean that I was on her side… and that I'm now her enemy. The thing is, neither of those things are true. That's why I'm here. I know you're not used to people that think for themselves, so it might be a little bit of a foreign concept. But I was never here for Wenster. Even Brynne knows that. Maybe if you actually talked to her every once in a while, you'd have had a better idea of what was going on."

"That's enough, Serra." Brynne then cut into the conversation, stepping in front of James. There was a look in her blue eyes that James had perhaps only seen once or twice, and James was frankly surprised that Serra Paxton hadn't crumbled to dust on the spot. "I don't mind that you have a different goal than the rest of us, even though I don't agree with it. But James and I - that's none of your business."

Serra frowned, clearly uncomfortable.

"Anyway, it's beside the point," Brynne went on. "We're here because you have some information you'd like to volunteer. Unless you've changed your mind."

The entire group watched the Ravenclaws with bated breath.

Serra glanced back at Mark, who nodded. Then she turned to the rest. "We think there may be a way to use the Come and Go Room as a secret passage within the castle."

"...That's all?" Tellius Nott replied after a long silence. Then, when everyone turned to look at him, he added, "Well, everyone knows that already, don't they? That's how Longbottom came back that day…"

"Within the castle," Serra repeated, raising her eyebrows smugly. "You weren't listening."

Nott glared at Serra, who didn't seem to notice.

"Wait…" Kadric Howell spoke now. "You mean… you mean the Come and Go Room has more than one entrance and exit?"

"Possibly," Serra answered. "The trick is…"

"You have to go to the right place," Brynne finished. "Or maybe ask for the right thing." But then, puzzlingly, a smile crossed her face. "You don't know where it's hidden, do you?"

Serra frowned thoughtfully. "My first guess was Flitwick's - well, Gladstone's - office. But then, they wouldn't leave it that unprotected, would they?"

"They might if they didn't know anyone was after it," reasoned the elder Albertine brother, chin cupped in his hand.

"None of that's our problem," Brynne said flatly, right after Mark spoke. Serra's eyes narrowed for a moment, but she remained calm.

"Of course not," she finally replied, smiling. "Not everyone has the big picture to think about. Do what you want with that information. I won't stop you. Just know we're not alone - any of us - trying to find that passage."

James could see some of the others exchanging glances.

"Are these 'other people'… dangerous?" Kadric Howell queried haltingly.

"They're obstacles," Serra answered. "Of course they're dangerous."

"Obstacles to you, maybe," Tellius Nott pointed out, his arms folded. "You want to use… whatever this 'door' is, if it even exists... to find the Sorting Hat. That's what I'm assuming. What are we trying to find?"

"Evidence," Murphy cut in suddenly - but there was a look in his eye that suggested that he had only arrived at this answer a few seconds ago. James had told him and Rowan about the secret, burned-out room they had found in the Come and Go Room, and the fact that when he and Brynne arrived, Serra and Mark Albertine were already there with a different objective. "We want Wenster removed from power. There's only two ways to do that. Force - good luck - or for either the Headmaster or Ministry to remove him."

"Gladstone won't," Nott pointed out. "She's in too desperate a position and she'd be inviting the wrath of the Board of Governors down on her head. It would take a lot -"

"What it's going to take," Murphy said, "is a criminal investigation. And that would take having some sort of evidence that the Ministry can use as cause to investigate him. If they were to find that he ordered the use of force against students under his charge -"

"But we weren't," Nott countered. "We're Slytherins, remember?"

"This is exactly why," Serra cut in, sounding impatient. "It's just that sort of thinking…"

"The Four Houses of Hogwarts have existed for a thousand years!" Richard Murphy suddenly exploded on her, which was a bit unexpected. Some of the Slytherins glanced at each other uncomfortably, probably wondering, as James was, whether they were witnessing a philosophical debate or a spat between two acrimonious exes. "Just because some... lunatic wants to weaponize the system doesn't mean we have to throw the entire thing out."

"What's the use of it now? It had its time." Serra bit back. Then, raising a finger, she added very quickly, "-and if your best answer for that question is 'that's the way we've always done it', that's not good enough."

"What the hell's the Sorting, anyway?" Murphy shrugged his shoulders. "A personality test? You think all of our problems will go away if you light an old hat on fire? Take away the House colors?"

Serra didn't answer this immediately.

"The Sorting is inherently broken. And broken systems cause conflict," she finally answered.

"What, your Dad teach you that?" Murphy asked, with a scoff on his voice.

"Yep," Serra said briskly, raising her eyebrows smugly. "Along with a bunch of other things."

And at that point, she opened one side of her robes. Something appeared to be pinned inside - and whatever it was, Murphy recognized it. He blinked silently, with a look that suggested something or somebody had just clubbed him over the head.

"Oh, shit… it really is real...That's his, right?" he asked haltingly, almost as if he was afraid to find out the answer. But with a dewy smile, Serra Paxton hid the pin behind her robes again, and slowly shook her head. For some reason, this response horrified Murphy - at least, judging by his facial expression.

"'The unseen shield that defends this age of peace'..." Serra said slowly, reverently, almost as if quoting some sort of mantra or sacred text. But then her demeanor changed. "Or something like that. But anyway, we've obviously overstayed our welcome."

She started forward through the small throng of students, and with a lazy wave, beckoned Mark and his younger brother to follow her. But when she reached Murphy, James, and Brynne, she stopped alongside them.

"I'm rooting for you, by the way," she said. "Take him down. Just know there's going to be another at some point. And then another after that."

"That's fine," Brynne answered.

"And you'll fight them too, I'm guessing?" replied Serra. And then she looked right at James. "I bet your family's getting awfully knackered, aren't they? I feel bad for you..."

"Just… go." Murphy's voice replied, and she must have done, because there was no further conversation. At least, none James heard. Other things were said - James didn't remember any of them. Brynne had filled him in on all of the important bits anyway…

After it was over, James started down to the Black Lake with the intention of being alone - but Brynne and Murphy, being Brynne and Murphy, wordlessly agreed to follow him and did. James didn't even feel like protesting. Maybe that's better, he thought.

He stood at the edge of the lake for a while.

SPLOOSH.

Something heavy hit the surface of the water.

SPLOOSH.

Again.

SPLOOSH.

And again.

James glanced to his right. Brynne was standing next to him. And with odd hand motions, she was throwing stones into the Lake. Bet the merpeople are really thrilled with that, he thought.

James bent down to pick up a stone.

"It's a flick," he finally said. Brynne, who was about to arm herself with her sixth rock, stopped and straightened out of her squat to watch him. James put his right arm down, tucking the elbow to his side, and with a snap of his wrist, sent the stone in his hand toward the water's gray surface. It slapped the top of the glassy water, causing a ripple, and bounced once, then a second time, before its weight finally pulled it below.

Brynne sighed and slackened. "Of course it's easy for you and your Quidditch reflexes..."

He turned his back on her.

"Oh, James, I'm sor…" Brynne started.

"I'm fine," James interrupted, rather forcefully. Then, with a pang of regret that he'd been so sore with her, he repeated himself, this time more calmly. "I'm fine. Really."

"Really?" Brynne repeated. "Clearly you aren't. That's why you're down here staring at nothing and trying to take your mind off it. What's wrong?"

"He's thinking about what Serra said," Murphy's voice joined the conversation as he approached. "Sorry, I know you two were having a moment, but you obviously don't know what's on his mind."

"Of course I don't - that's why I didn't tell you to stay back. I needed your help," Brynne replied. Murphy snorted.

"So I'm a useful third wheel. That makes me feel a little bit better," he quipped, looking away from both of them and smirking.

"Serra's gotten really full of herself," Brynne said. "I don't think she deserves much space in your head."

"Not even if she's right?" James asked.

"What?" Brynne seemed caught off guard by this.

James turned to stare out at the lake again.

"When I saw my dad this past Christmas… like, when I really got the chance to get a good look at him," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen him as tired and as… well… old-looking… like, he looked exhausted. I don't..."

"I imagine he's busy trying to figure out who tried to do in Commissioner Robards, right?" Murphy, who had walked up to James's left, reasoned.

"It was probably Beal."

James hadn't meant to blurt that out at this moment - but, now that he thought about it, he hadn't gotten around to sharing that theory with either of them. Both seemed to lose their voices for several seconds.

"You're yanking my wand," Murphy said, once he found his.

"I don't know for sure," James admitted. "But it was the same type of… powers. They found Robards wounded and frozen half to death. My dad thinks Beal - or whoever it was that did it - might have the gift of Elemancy."

"Elemancy… that's sort of like… manipulating the forces of nature, right?" asked Murphy.

"...Sort of? That's kind of what it sounded like, the way Dad explained it to me," James answered. "I know powerful wizards can learn to do that sort of thing with really high-level magic, but it sounds like some people are flat-out born with it."

"So… if I could manipulate water…" Murphy said. "I could yank some out of this lake and use it for anything from putting out a fire to dropping it on someone to drown them?"

"It's probably more complicated than that, but…" James acknowledged. "That's what it sounds like, more or less."

"...And there's people that just… pop out as babies, just naturally able to do that?" Murphy replied. "That's terrifying."

"It would explain a lot," Brynne mused. "I'd imagine it's one thing to find out your child's a wizard to begin with - but that… that's something else entirely. Not that it's an excuse...but…"

She trailed off. James clenched his jaw - but she knew what she was trying to say. Beal, if he was to be believed, was born to Muggles, who already tend to fear magic as a rule. If he was born with powers that were unnatural even to wizards, that fear would be multiplied tenfold.

"I've been thinking about it a lot… Dad's been fighting Dark wizards for almost his entire life," James said. "And no matter how many he gets rid of… someone else always pops up. Maybe…"

He paused for a moment to contemplate the thought, and to contemplate whether to voice it. In the end, he decided not to say anything. But then, Murphy let out a sigh.

"If they're involved… I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing," he commented, stroking his chin.

"If who's involved?" asked Brynne, naturally.

Murphy set his mouth into a firm line for a second, and looked away from her pointedly. But Brynne, as per usual, was not to be deterred.

"Does this have something to do with... whatever that was that Serra showed you?" asked Brynne.

"I'm not allowed to talk about it," Murphy said quickly. He glanced at Brynne and James in turn, looking a bit uncomfortable. But then Brynne cupped her own chin in one of her pale hands. The face she put on visibly worried Murphy. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing, I'm not gonna pry, it's just…" Brynne replied before pausing. "I think I might have seen that pin before…"

"Never mind the pin," Murphy implored, seemingly insistent that they get off the subject. "Assuming she's right… which I'm not sure about… how are we gonna get through that door?"

Brynne glanced at James for a second before speaking:

"That's where it gets complicated. We're not sure."

"And not alone trying to figure it out, from what Serra was saying," James added.

Brynne nodded. Murphy glanced at James, a 'well, that complicates matters' sort of cringe visible on his face.

"Well… if we've got to go through them…" he suggested, trailing off.

"I'm not gonna do that," James interrupted firmly.

"Why's that?" Murphy asked. "Didn't you tell me you'd duel Wenster himself if it came down to it-?"

"This is different," answered James.

"And why's that?" repeated Murphy.

"Whoever it was is powerful," Brynne explained, rescuing James. "Unusually powerful for a student."

"Powerful, clever…" James piggybacked. He knew something she and Murphy hadn't figured out. And though he trusted the both of them, he wasn't sure they could know yet. He needed to protect everyone involved. "...Worse than all of that, desperate."

"Desperate?" repeated Brynne. "James, did you know that girl?"

James swallowed hard, and did not answer.

(Meanwhile…)

Fingers flexed and tingled, hidden beneath a covering of black. A length of wood rolled between the fingers: back, forth, back, forth…

The hand made a fist, and squeezed over the wand tightly. Her grip was growing stronger with time - but it still failed her every once in a while. Still, it was better than the alternative. She'd been quite fortunate not to lose the arm that day. Bite marks, a broken bone, burns from the explosion…

It had been over three months, and she still woke up with her hand numb some mornings, like a hundred tiny needles gently pricking at each of her fingers. It wasn't quite painful - at least, not as painful as some other things she had felt - but she could tell it wasn't quite right.

The glove helped. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been much use with it. It wasn't as if her hand was deformed, visibly wounded, sickening to look at like it had been once…

The salve that had been used on it was designed for burns from dragon fire, which were among some of the worst possible to have. What it had not healed, it had hidden fairly well.

A bit ironic, she thought as she stared at the unadorned gray room around her. Here she was to deal with another problem that had not been taken care of… just hidden fairly well.

"But not well enough," she whispered to herself. "Not well enough."

Next to her, a door swung open, hiding her from view of whoever was entering. Slowly, and leaning on the wall for support, she uncoiled herself to her feet.

A roar of rage rang out in the small space. A boy thundered in and threw his backpack at one of the walls. It did not fly far; the room was very tiny. He stood there in its middle, fuming, seething, his shoulders rising and falling with each enraged snarl.

In another time, she would have almost felt pity for him. Forced solitary confinement was no way to treat most people, and it had certainly not been good to him - even if it was ostensibly for his own safety.

But no. He deserved it. He deserved all of it, and worse. And he certainly did not deserve the second chance she was about to give him.

In order to get true justice, though… sometimes tradeoffs had to be made. Her family had once gone head-to-head against the law to go toe-to-toe with a demon. Most of them had understood that, at one point.

And she understood it, now, as well as any of them.

"Rough day?" she finally spoke. He nearly jumped to the ceiling in shock, and whirled around wand-first… "Expelliarmus." She spoke the incantation almost lazily, and the wand leapt from the boy's hand as if lightly swatted, and landed in her own. She stood there for a moment, both wands pointed at his chest, as he backed into his own grey bed, trembling. It was tempting, in a way to stand here forever… maybe relish his terror a bit, knowing that he might be feeling just a fraction of what her brother and her cousins felt when he came after them on that ill-fated November evening…

But there was business to attend to.

"Who the hell are you?" the boy asked as she took her place between him and the door.

Beneath the mask, she smiled. He hadn't recognized her yet. She thought for a moment about revealing her face, wondering if that would terrify him more or less. If she showed it, he would tell, or try to. But no one would believe him. She had that working for her.

"That's the wrong question, Stephan," she finally said. "Question is… who are you?"

"Goyle," Stephan Vaisey muttered nonsensically. Then again - this time more loudly. "Mr. Goyle!"

"Not sure who that is, but he can't hear you," she replied. "Nobody can hear you in here."

"That's the caretaker," Vaisey said between shallow breaths.

"I'm not an idiot," answered the girl. "Our caretaker is named Greg Vincent."

"No, he isn't," Vaisey replied through his teeth, hissing as he hyperventilated. "That's not his real name. He changed it. Trust me, I know - besides McLaggen, he's the only one in this godforsaken place that'll talk to me anymore."

She paused for a few more moments, enjoying his discomfort. His eyes were darting to the walls, as if looking for a rescuer to break through one of them and save him from this predicament. But no one was coming. No one but her.

"I'm here, aren't I? There's a couple of things I'd like to know."

"You're wasting your time," he huffed, trying and failing to sound tough as his voice quavered and cracked. "I'm not going to tell you anything useful."

"No? Not against the man that hung you out to dry? Let you and Eamonn Temple take the fall for everything?"

"You don't get it!" Vaisey snarled. "If he finds out I said anything to you…"

But she raised Vaisey's own wand in her right hand, and put it to his temple.

"Don't say anything, then," she suggested. "Just show me."

Vaisey looked up at his wand, drawing a rattling breath. His eyes set on her again and visibly began to fill with tears. He looked like a scared, little child.

"What are you so nervous for? This doesn't hurt, I'm pretty sure," she told him. "Although, honestly, if it does, I doubt I'd lose sleep over it."

Vaisey shuddered. His eyes darted away from her now.

He made a fair show of remorse; she had to admit that much. Someone more innocent might have even been fooled for a moment. "Do you hate me that much?" he breathed, looking as pathetic as he possibly could.

"You disgust me," she said, after letting his question hang there until he squirmed uncomfortably. "You're a foul, spineless, cowardly cockroach that attacked my family. But you're also a pawn."

She backed away from him, wand still raised, and sat down against the door. Her hand tingled and trembled, but she redoubled her grip through the glove.

"I want checkmate."