Chapter 14: The Song of the Selkie

Matt stepped out into the chill air of the night, careful to shut the door behind him. As the door closed he heard the heavy sound of the lock falling back into place and the familiar cackling of Peeves the poltergeist on the other side. A jolt of panic shot through him. He yanked on the door handle, but it would not budge. Now he was really in for it, out of bed and on the grounds at night. His mind immediately started going over possible ways back in. Perhaps, if he waited by the dorm window, Tip would see him - that was, if Tip decided to attempt an early morning escape, but he'd been doing that less now that it was only cold and miserable out without the benefit of snow. He could probably sneak in at breakfast when they reopened the doors, but that would mean staying out in this misty cold all night, and Hagrid would probably find him before then. And what about Hagrid? At the very least Matt could take shelter in his stable for the night. In the morning he could explain what had happened. For all his size and fearsome appearance, Hagrid was the soft-hearted type. Hagrid might even decide that a night in the stables was punishment enough and not report the incident to McGonagall. Perhaps Hagrid would say Matt was only out helping with the morning feeding. Certainly it was worth a try. Better to be found by Hagrid than anyone else. And all because he just had to see what that strange thing in the lake was.

The lake! There was an entrance to Hogwarts from the lake! All he would need to do was fetch one of the boats from the boathouse and paddle it through the cavern onto the dock and he would be in the clear. If he took one of the older ones no one would even notice, probably not until next year for how rarely they were used. By then he could probably come up with a way to get it back unnoticed.

The mist was rising on the water as he approached the boathouse, giving the lake an ethereal appearance. Whatever had been swimming in the lake had long since vanished, not that he had been watching for it since realizing he had been locked out. There was an eerie hum on the wind as he approached, almost like the snatches of a song. He could see the front of the building was chained, but perhaps it was open in the back? If nothing else he could probably tolerate a quick swim under a gate. As he stepped around the corner of the boathouse he saw something completely mad. He rubbed his eyes to be certain it was not simple a trick of the mist. No. It was the back of a nude woman lying on the beach, skin so pale as to appear almost white, dark brown hair cascading down her back and shoulders, staring at the lake. He could hear now the distinct sound of music on the air. In the undulating mist she appeared like a ghost, though Matt had never heard of any lake ghost except for Moaning Myrtle and he had never heard of her to go about starkers. He crept closer, trying his best to remain within the shadows of the old building. Closer now, he could see the woman more clearly. Except she was not a woman, at least not properly, for where he had expected to see legs he saw what was clearly a tail, not unlike the tail he had seen in depictions of mermaids excepting that it was a dark brown or black in color. But then, he knew from his studies that mermaids, in reality, looked nothing as they did in legend. They did have upper bodies that were similar in form to a humans, but they were far uglier to humans than myth would convey. Whatever this woman was, she was the most beautiful woman Matt had ever seen though he could not say why, and though he could not see her face, he could hear her voice over the gentle lapping of the water on the boathouse, singing in ancient tones.

"A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi;
A ghràidh, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi;
A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi -
An tòir chrodh-laoigh a thàine mi."

Though he did not understand the words, there was something so beautifully haunting in them he felt his heart being rent within him, tears stung his eyes.

As he watched, being drawn toward her in an almost hypnotic state, the woman's tail seemed to slide lower, revealing her hips as she continued to sing plaintively,

"Trodaidh m' athair 's mo mhàthair riut,
Trodaidh mo chinneadh 's mo chàirdean riut,
Ach marbhaidh mo thriùir bhràithrean thu"

Suddenly his feet caught on something, something large and made of cloth. He fell, catching himself on the rocks near the shore, he sucked in air to fight the urge to cry out and frighten the woman. But it was of no use, she started, her song interrupted. He rolled behind some large rocks - the last thing he wanted was to be caught peeping on some random woman in the middle of the night. As he crawled further from the woman he felt sharp pain in his hands. Examining them he could see they were badly scraped from the fall. He peered over the rocks to see the woman, her ankles now appearing from within what had been her tail, she seemed to have decided whatever had interrupted her was of no concern for she resumed her song as she rose up from the shore, still facing the water,

"A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi;
A ghràidh, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi;
A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi -
An tòir chrodh-laoigh a thàine mi."

The woman seemed to fight to tear herself from the lake, turning away from Matt, toward the place where he had tripped. He could see now the thing he had become entangled in were clothes as she dressed herself. This wasn't just some woman! This was another student! He had to know who she was! He had to see her face!

As she continued to dress, he crept along the shore line where her attention a pointedly away from. There, lying on the sand, was the tail. Except it wasn't only a tail, there was more to it than there had appeared to have been, and it wasn't scaly like a fish or a mermaid, but it looked to be furry, like an animal pelt. He took it in his hands to have a closer look.

The head of the girl snapped toward him the moment he touched the pelt. He recognized her in an instant - it was the Ravenclaw Co-Captain Bridget Kineely-McConville - her face pale and terror stricken. Knowing he was caught, Matt stood, holding out the pelt to her, searching for any excuse that would not make him seem like a peeping tom. She approached him slowly, as though he were a vicious animal that might tear her to pieces at any moment. She touched the pelt gingerly, taking it into her hands.

Matt released the pelt into her hands, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand in embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You give this to me freely?" She interrupted. Her accent, like her song, was of a more queersome, ancient tone then he had ever known, and it was not as though he had never heard her speak before. But in that moment, he knew whatever she had sounded like before, this was her true voice.

He nodded, too stunned to speak.

She clasped the pelt to her chest and raced off toward the castle as the words, "What are you?" fell from Matt's lips.

Matt followed her path up toward the castle, his mind too full of all he had seen to even recall the locked door or note that it was now left ajar. The creature he had seen swimming, it had to be her. There had been something so familiar in the way the thing had swum and dove in the lake, it was the same as the way she flew - but if that were true then what was she? He made his way down to the Hufflepuff Common Room and was about to tap out the rhythm to gain entry when he heard voices coming from the kitchens.

"Well, you don't have to encourage him!" the one voice said as two tall shadows approached. Matt recognized it instantly as Byron Wycliffe. He ducked behind one of the barrels so as not to be seen; Wycliffe sounded as though he were in a foul mood and Matt had no desire to find himself the convenient target of Wycliffe's temper.

Wycliffe and Cass Weasley appeared from the shadowy corridor. Wycliffe's expression was stormy enough to sink Atlantis while Cass appeared quite content, her fingers on one hand ringed with donuts while in the other she carried a number of pastries. In her mouth, hanging out from either side like a puppy with a bone, was quite possibly the largest eclair Matt had ever seen.

"Mmm mmm mmm mmm mm," Cass responded.

"Don't talk to me with your mouth full!"

Cass rolled her eyes and stopped in her tracks, taking the eclair and practically inhaling it. Chocolate frosting and cream lined the sides of her mouth. Wycliffe offered her a handkerchief but she simply wiped her sleeve across her mouth. Matt suspected she was intentionally being uncouth just to further annoy Wycliffe.

"He's just a kid, Byron, so he's got a crush on me," she said.

"That doesn't mean you need to encourage him."

"Encourage him? And how did I do that?" she scoffed.

"I saw you when you caught that snitch."

They were talking about Tip!

"You saw what, exactly?" Cass's posture had changed, her fists were on her hips as though she were daring Wycliffe to say more; and even with donuts on her fingers and pastries in her other hand and despite Wycliffe being almost half a foot taller than her and athletically built, Matt was quite certain she could flatten him.

Wycliffe quailed "You... you know..."

"I know what, Byron? I am sick and tired of this! He's just some third year kid with a crush!"

Wycliffe approached Cass in what was probably meant to be a posture of reconciliation, trying to put his arm around her shoulder. She shook him off. "I'm sorry Cass, you know, I just don't want to lose you."

She rounded on him, "To him?! Because he threw a snitch at me?! I have half a mind to-! You know what? Forget it." She threw up her arms and stormed off.

"Cass, I'm sorry!" Wycliffe hurried after her. She threw two donut ringed fingers up in what was likely meant to be a rude gesture. "Cass, wait!"

Matt waited until their shadows had disappeared around the corner before coming out of hiding and quickly tapping out the rhythm on the cask. So Wycliffe was jealous of Tip. The idea of the older and better looking Wycliffe being jealous that Tip Walker would somehow steal Cass Weasley from him made Matt almost laugh aloud. It was a good thing Tip wasn't there to hear her. Matt pondered for a moment as he pulled on his pyjamas. Actually, it was a really good thing Tip hadn't been there to hear. For the average person her dismissal of him would have been enough to vanquish any hope, but when it came to Tip for whom confidence and hope sprang eternal from fathomless wells, he'd probably see it as a victory. Matt could see him now grinning. "She knows I exist!" he would say victoriously. Matt shook his head, suppressing a chuckle, and pulled the blankets over him.

That night his dreams were haunted by that song from the shore.

Matt sat absently buttering his roll at supper, staring off into the distance, pointedly trying not to look at Bridget Kineely-McConville who was sitting near the doors to the great hall, as far from him as was possible.

"Matt. Matt! Matt!" A grape from across the table returned Matt from his reverie. "There you are," Tip said, smiling.

"Where else would I be?" Matt answered.

"I don't know, but wherever it was, it looked like it was about a million miles away."

"He's right," Shoshanna said, "You've been off all day. What is it?"

"I was just wondering, what kind of woman would need a fur pelt to transform to swim underwater?"

"You mean like a scuba diver?" Tip asked.

"Something like that, but without the equipment."

"Why do you ask?" Shoshanna said.

"Just read it in an epic poem and was curious." There was no way Matt was going to tell any of them what he had seen the night before. He was quite certain Shoshanna would never forgive him for peeping on a naked girl, even if it had been an accident; and he didn't expect Donnie, the prefect, to be to keen to hear of his after hours adventures - even if he had gotten away with it. Donnie would probably take points away from Hufflepuff just on the principle of it.

Shoshanna considered the question carefully, "Well, maybe an animagus, but they wouldn't use a fur. Could be a cloak they enchanted to be waterproof or something? Maybe some sort of special magical artifact... But then, that seems rather excessive when gillyweed is freely available, I mean expensive and difficult to cultivate, but much easier than a full fur coat. Unless it was inherited."

"Or it could be a selkie," Donnie interupted, not even looking up from cutting his beef. Shoshanna and Matt gazed at him, stunned, it was not typical for Donnie to know the answer to anything before they did. He glanced up, "What? Prof. Jones had us write that paper on creatures that could take the form of humans at the beginning of the year, remember?"

"A selkie?" Tip was clearly confused.

"It's like a seal that can take the form of a person when on land," Matt supplied. "I can't believe I didn't think of it. When they transform they leave their fur skins behind and can be captured and forced to obey the orders of anyone who might capture their pelts. So that was why she was so scared."

"Who was?" Tip asked.

"Oh..." Matt fumbled, "the woman in the poem." A selkie! That had to be the answer. Until this moment he had not even been certain they existed, most of the educated writings on the subject postulated that the legends were merely based on animagi. But if she were a selkie, then why would she be attending Hogwarts? That made no sense. If selkies were part of the wizarding world then why was their existence doubted? Why had he never even heard of one before? Wouldn't they be in the same class as House elves, Goblins, and Centaurs - certainly magical in their own rights but considered separate magical creatures and therefore not eligible to be students at Hogwarts?

"I think you might be getting a bit too much into your books," Donnie said. "Maybe we ought to go down to the pitch and throw a few around before the Slytherins have their practice."

"I thought you didn't like Quidditch," Matt said.

"I don't, but I'm tired of being cooped up inside. I think it's the first day the weather hasn't been rubbish for a week."

"Sure, I guess."

"Tip, you in?"

"Does a wombat dig?"

Matt and Donnie exchanged questioning looks.

Tip sighed in exasperation. Rolling his eyes he said, "Yes!"

"What about you, Shosh?"

"What do you think?"

"I'd be better off asking a brick wall to tap dance?"

"That sounds about right," she smirked.

"So we'll head down to the pitch after suppe-"

"Hey!" Tip cried out, interrupting Donnie.

"What is it?" Matt asked.

"Something hit me on the back of the head!" He rubbed his hand over the back of his hair, his hand came back with a thick clump of butter on it. "Crikey!" He bent sideways in his seat to check the floor, sure enough he came up with half of a generously buttered roll. They turned to see, sitting almost in line with him at the Gryffindor table, Cass Weasley, making a conspicuous show of buttering half a roll. Wycliffe was sitting beside her, fuming. Tip's eyes were almost as large as his grin.

"This is my chance!" Tip leaned in whispering conspiratorially to the others. "Shosh, do you have any spare parchment?"

"Tip, no." Shoshanna said.

"Oh come on, I know you do."

"Wycliffe will kill you." She glanced over at the red-faced Gryffindor, "I think he might anyway."

"What's a little death when it comes to true love?"

"Ask Romeo and Juliet."

"Who?"

Shoshanna sighed heavily. "Tip, you are completely deluded."

"Come on, just a scrap!"

"I hate to agree, but she's just trying to use you to make Wycliffe jealous," Matt said.

He raised his brows. "Aces! I'll just have to help her with that plan."

"Tip!" Shoshanna cried in frustration. "She has a boyfriend!"

"And clearly she is in need of a better one."

"And you think you're that man?"

They turned as they heard the sound of ripping parchment, Donnie was tearing a corner from his assignment.

"No, Donnie, don't!" Shoshanna pleaded.

Donnie handed Tip the scrap. "Look, if he wants to do it, it's his funeral."

Tip quickly scrawled a note reading: Meet me in the owlery at 8 and stuffed it into the roll. "Now I just need a diversion so Wycliffe doesn't see... Matt?"

Matt put up his hands to stop him. "Oh no, I was against this plan from the start."

"Come on, Matt, please? They won't suspect you of anything."

Matt glanced around the hall, he had no desire to humiliate himself in front of everybody just so that Tip could play the romantic fool. It was then he saw Bridget piling her silver and napkin on her plate. She was leaving and he needed to speak to her. Who knows when he'd get another chance?

"Come on, I'll owe you one," Tip pleaded.

"Fine," Matt said, standing. He removed his glasses and handed them to Tip. "But you owe me."

"Matt, don't," Shoshanna tried.

"Anything, just name it."

Matt walked to the front off the hall, he took a few deep breathes as he stared out at the sea of people before him. Some of them had already taken notice and were prodding their friends and pointing at him. He turned to face the staff table.

Prof. McGonagall raised an eyebrow from her center seat. "Yes, Mr. Boot. Is there something you wish to say?"

He took another deep breath. It had been months since he had done this. He gazed up at the candles on the ceiling and turned around. This was so embarrassing, he could feel everyone's eyes on him, could hear them whispering. Tip would really owe him for this. One last breath.

He ran, getting as much speed as he could before launching himself into the front handspring that began his old tumbling run warm-up routine. He flipped end over end with a series of twists and handsprings thrown in before the final trick, a double flip in the air. Within moments of beginning, aside from the unforgiving stone floor and the hundreds of eyes, it felt good, like coming home. He'd forgotten how much he missed it. He landed, taking a large step back. There was utter silence from the Great Hall.

Suddenly a shout broke the dam of silence.

"Wooo!" cried Liam.

"Yeah!" Declan joined in, applauding. "That's our Keeper!"

The other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs joined in in the applause, even a few Ravenclaws, including Taro Matsumoto, deigned to give subdued applause. Matt bowed, still feeling somewhat ridiculous, but not in an entirely bad way.

Prof. McGonagall eyed him from the podium at the other end of the Great Hall, "Well, Mr. Boot, if you are quite finished with your little gymnastics display, might we begin dessert?"

Matt, still feeling the flush from his run, nodded, "Sorry, Professor. I've just always wanted to do that."

"I know the feeling. Now, if you would please..." She waved him on using her wand.

"Yes, ma'am." As he intentionally passed close by Bridget Kineely-McConville he whispered, "I know what you are."

"Where're you heading?" Donnie asked as he, Matt and Tip entered the castle from the grounds. The evening had been so fair that after they had been kicked off the pitch by the Slytherins they decided to continue tossing the quaffle about on the grounds like muggles.

"I think I'll head up to the Owlery," Tip said.

"You really think she's coming, don't you?"

"Well, it wouldn't do me any good not to be there when she shows up." Tip flashed a winning smile.

Donnie shook his head, "I will never understand how he can be so confident. What about you?"

"I think I'm going to go to the library, there's something I want to look up." Specifically he was desperate to read more about selkies. He had never thought about them much before but now he was practically starving for more information, even if it was just legend and myth.

"Well, I'm going to hit the showers. Maybe get a start on that assignment from Slughorn about the uses and cultivation of Moly."

"Catch you later then," Matt said, tossing Donnie the quaffle.

As Matt approached the Library he heard a whisper, "Matthew Boot."

He looked around but saw nothing. He shrugged.

"Over here," the voice whispered.

He turned to an empty classroom, or at least, what he thought was an empty classroom. The door opened and something black pulled him inside.

"Bridget!" he cried in surprise as she shut the door behind them. Her face was drawn, pensive, with dark bags under her great brown eyes. Had she even slept since yesterday? She began pacing back and forth.

"I knew it was stupid," she said almost more to herself then to him. "He always warned me not to swim when the moon was out, that it was too dangerous, that I might be seen. I promised him! I promised."

"Who warned you?" Matt asked.

"Dumbledore!" she said as if he should have known that.

"Wait, Dumbledore knew?"

"Of course he knew! He's been hiding me since I was six. Since they discovered my magic."

"Hiding you? From what? Who are they?"

"The Kingdom of the Selkies."

"But you are a selkie, aren't you? Why are they looking for you."

"They have to kill me, it's the law."

Matt was flabberghasted. "Why would they have to kill you?"

"It's... complicated." She plopped back into one of the chairs, clearly exhausted.

Matt pulled another chair across from her and sat. "Well, try me," he said.

She inhaled deeply.

"Once in a century the selkie kingdom gathers to choose their king from the descendants of the very first selkie, or at least that's so they say. Though he was the youngest son, my father was chosen to succeed his grandfather to the throne. A selkie king must take a bride and my father, well, he had been in love with a girl from the land since he was a pup. My mum had lived on an island with her family for years, it was a small town, smaller now with most of the islanders gone off to the cities for work instead of making their living from the sea. It was just she, her grandparents, some cousins, a few aunts and uncles, and her youngest brother. BUt like so many people on such small islands, she had selkie in her bloodline though she scarce knew it. My father would have loved her just the same regardless, he always said it was her spirit he loved most of all. As the king he was allowed to go ashore in human form twice a year during the equinox if he wished and so he did that very Spring, pretending to be a shipwrecked fisherman. He didn't fool mum for a minute, she knew him as the little seal who had watched her from the rocks years ago, but the story made it easier for her grandparents to digest. Well, it was love from the start. My great grandparents were understandably upset when she ran off with the handsome stranger the very night they met, made all the stranger by the fact they didn't take a boat. Of course, there was a great wagging of tongues in the selkie kingdom over the king marrying a human, even if she had selkie blood. There is much precaution taken that a selkie does not have children with anyone from the magical world."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know quite for certain except that it has something to do with something called a sampo."

"What's a sampo?"

"No one seems to know except that it's dangerous. So dangerous that if a selkie child is born with wizarding powers they are to be killed."

"So that's why they want to kill you?"

"Yes. Unknown to my mother my distant ancestor, eight generations back on my maternal grandmother's side, was adopted. Her adoptive parents were so adament that she was part of their family it was not discovered until I began to exhibit magical powers not of the selkie race. The woman had been a squib born to the Gaunt family. They were so ashamed of her they abandoned her at an orphanage and told everyone she had died."

This was just about too much for Matt, "Wait a minute! You're a Gaunt?"

She smiled wanly, "The last of the line, unless you believe in the cursed child."

Matt shook his head. "So you are a Gaunt... and a selkie... and the other selkie's want you dead."

"That is the short of it, yes." Bridget nodded in confirmation.

"So how did you get here?"

"When my father would not allow my execution my father's eldest brother led a coup to depose him and sent us into hiding. My father had heard of Dumbledore from the mermaids - yes, even in the underwater realms he is... was famous - he managed to hold the armies off long enough that my mother could smuggle me out of the palace to the home of her brother, my uncle, in the hopes he could find a way to get me to Dumbledore. I wish I remembered more of that day. I wish I could remember watching father come into the room, I wish I could remember how he said good morning, how it felt when my mother kissed me on the head. I wish I could remember what we ate or what the plates looked like. Small things. I wish I could remember their faces when they were happy. I can't remember my father's at all, just that his eyes were great and dark and he was vary handsome. But sometimes I wonder if I even remember that or simply remember my great grandmother telling me that. I remember my mother, I can see her hiding me under her cloak, telling me to be quiet. I remember running and stopping and watching as shadows passed down other corridors and I remember how afraid she looked and I wasn't sure why. It was only our home, there was nothing to be afraid of. I remember it was raining when we arrived at my uncle's house and we were soaked. And she whispered things to him, things I could not fully hear or understand. And then she left."

Bridget wiped her eye and took a deep breath before continuing.

"Uncle Jamie took me to London. He had no idea how to find Dumbledore or the Ministry of Magic. I'm the first witch in generations in my family, most of them had no idea there even was a world of wizards existing within our own. Then, one day, we say this... well giant hairy man - far too large to be a normal human - he was with a boy with glasses, who could not have been his son, and they disappeared into a pub. In retrospect I think Uncle Jamie might have had other worries than whether they were magical when he followed them in, but we watched the giant man, well, cause a wall to take itself apart. Now it makes sense, of course, but then... It was difficult but Uncle Jamie was able to send a letter to Dumbledore by owl post. We had not anticipated such a fast response, but by evening Dumbledore was at our inn door having read the letter. My uncle explained the situation as best he knew it and Dumbledore agreed it was best I go into hiding. He took me to a family he knew in Hogsmeade where I was to stay until such time as I was old enough to attend Hogwarts. He used to come by often to visit, at least every Sunday. It was like having a grandfather."

"So what happened to your mother and father?"

Bridget hung her head. "I don't know. Dumbledore thought my father might be in exile - he'd heard tales from the merfolk about a selkie living far in the middle of the ocean, bound to the form of a seal, and of a woman living alone on a nearby island whom the seal watches but is unable to go to. He thought it might have been them, but he... he died, before he could find out."

"I'm so sorry." Matt wasn't sure what he had expected. Not any of this.

Bridget stood, throwing her hands up. "I don't even know why they care so much to want to kill me. It's not even as though I'm even all that good at magic. I doubt I could get the sampo to work even if I knew what it was. I'm not even sure it still exists. Neither Flamel or Dumbledore could find a single reference to it - the only thing they could find was an ancient legend that was already well over a thousand years old and all it said was that the sampo could make salt, bread, and gold and had been lost centuries before. How is bread and salt something to kill a child over?"

Matt shook his head. He had no answer.

"I'm sorry to have dragged you into all of this. I promised Dumbledore. He told me it was dangerous but I didn't listen. You haven't told anyone, have you?" Her dark eyes were desperate, pleading.

"No." Matt shook his head, suddenly very glad he had told his friends the lie about the poem, which had, at the moment, simply seemed easier than saying he had seen Bridget Kineely-McConville naked. "No one. And I won't. I promise."

She threw her arms around him. "Oh thank you!" Realizing what she had done she instantly created some space between them. She demurred, looking towards the stone floor, but her cheeks were tinted with rose. "Thank you. I can't tell you what this means to me." She rushed from the room.

"Don't mention it," Matt said to the empty doorway.

Late that night, after most of the other students had gone to their beds, Matt sat in front of the fireplace in the empty common room reading a large book he had found of legendary creatures in Scottish mythology. Male selkies sometimes come to shore in order to seduce women, but they can only remain in the presence of humans for a short time before needing to return to the sea. After which time they must wait seven years before they can return to the shore, he read. So it was possible for a selkie to be bound from coming ashore like the merfolks' tale had said.

Behind him he heard the sound of the door opening, which was strange for it was well after curfew. Matt turned to see Tip crawl in through the portal.

"Have you really been waiting all this time?" Matt asked.

"Yeah," Tip said.

"She never showed?"

"No. But I found this!" Tip's eyes shone as he pulled something sparkling gold and ruby from his pocket. He dangled it out in front of Matt, apparently unaware that he was moving it so much it was impossible to actually make out what it was.

"What is it?"

"It's a Gryffindor pin. She must have been too busy to meet so she left it for me to find."

Matt grabbed Tip's hand to stop the object from shaking. Sure enough it was a pin of ruby shield with a golden lion's head roaring within, it was clearly an expensive piece - probably more expensive then any Weasley would own and certainly more than they would be willing to part with. He was skeptical. "Where did you find it?"

"On the floor, under a pile of straw."

"Are you sure she left it for you?"

"Of course. She must have hidden it under the straw to keep Wycliffe from seeing. What other reason could there be?"

Matt could easily think of a dozen reasons that had nothing to do with Cass Weasley or Byron Wycliffe but he was fairly certain Tip wouldn't hear any of them.

"What are you still doing up?" Tip asked, crawling up on the easy chair's arm to see over it better. "What's that?" He pointed to the illustration of a selkie man.

Matt closed his book. "It's nothing, just a book of Scottish legends."

"Why would you be reading something like that?"

"Just something to do, I guess."

Tip slid off the arm of the chair, "Well, I'm going to bed."

Matt hadn't even realized how tired he was until Tip mentioned the word bed. His entire body felt heavy. So much had happened it seemed crazy to him to think tomorrow was only Tuesday. It was as if the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw had been a month ago, not three days. He struggled to pull himself from the overstuffed chair, momentarily contemplating just sleeping their rather than even try to get up. He managed to push himself up to standing.

"Yeah, I suppose it is getting late," he said, picking up the book. He followed Tip to the third year boys' dormitory.