Late to the party and half-a-crown short, but better than nothing. More imminently.
Ed.


...The grave shall open, quench the stars.
O Silence! are Man's noisy years
No more than moments of thy life?
Is Harmony, blest queen of smiles and tears,
With her smooth tones and discords just,
Tempered into rapturous strife,
Thy destined bond-slave?

— Wordsworth.

(—well, that's rubbish, what kind of thinking do you call that? I step away for five minutes—)

The soul of every man, O Asclepius, is deathless; yet not all in like fashion, but some in one way or time, some in another.
— Hermes Trismegistus.

(—look, adjust the spectral density to be inversely proportional to the frequency—)

The lightning flash has been identified with and controlled into the electric carrier of our mandates, and we have begun to comprehend the chain of causation concerned in tempests, tornadoes and hailstorms.
— Robert Mallet.

(—now, isn't that much better?)

In no way can we get such an overwhelming idea of the grandeur of Nature than when we consider, that in accordance with the law of the conservation of energy, throughout the Infinite, the forces are in a perfect balance, and hence the energy of a single thought may determine the motion of a universe.
— Nikola Tesla.

(Now, what have we got over here?)

Silently they crossed the mirrorblackness of the water, under white stars so sharp they didn't even hurt.
— Author Unknown.

You've got to approach it scientifically!

...there is no resistance to thought in a void.
— Spock.

In science every answer leads to a new question.

What does imagination need? Nothing more than a globe on which it can work, that is, the screen on which it paints what it wants to paint.
— Paracelsus.

Question: why would stars be painful?

Intelligence thus begins neither with knowledge of the self nor of things as such but with knowledge of their interaction, and it is by orienting itself simultaneously toward the two poles of that interaction that intelligence organises the world by organising itself.
— Jean Piaget.

Answer: because they'll go out.

Whereas Muggle astronomy derives from nomos and so seeks to discern the law of the stars, our astronomy derives from nomen, and might better be termed astronomination.
And so we hope to proceed through our astronomy to astrology — a discourse with our stars.
— Astronomy Year 1, Adele Dicnander, ed.

Question: why is it so?

Just our thought for the day, Melody.
— Robert J Sawyer.

#

Thanksgiving (V: Leftovers Until New Year's Day).

The problem with Hogwarts was that once a week you got into bed thinking it had been a good day and then remembered you had Astronomy class at midnight.

This was not a thought that had ever yet made its way out of the back of Harry James Potter's mind, not least because Hogwarts in fact had any number of interesting problems. Getting dragooned (or was it dragoned? Probably dragoned) into running ever-expanding errands for teachers, errands that threatened to eat into his dinnertime, that definitely overshadowed a two-o'-clock once-a-week bedtime.

But this particular errand verging on eating his dinner was for the Astronomy teacher, and so it was that as a grumpy Harry Potter slogged his way back upstairs (with a large heavy bottle of glass cleaner in one hand and a tiny but equally heavy bottle of occulting argentum in the other) it was indeed and at last that midnight class that front-and-centered itself.

I mean, midnight, he thought. It wasn't so much that it was late, it would have been better if it were even later — just get up at two and then stay awake all day, that would have been fine, it was, you know, midnight. Midnight sort of mattered. Astronomy class was a waste of a perfectly good witching hour. They never did any witching! It was spring-come-early when Snape said get out your wands, Sinistra never did.

{ You could just call it pembernose instead, } contributed an unexpected Rupert. { Means the same thing, less semantically loaded, synonymically speaking, safely non-Hogwartsesque — hello! what's gone wrong with my mental voice? }

Harry circled around the third-floor landing and parked himself next to the statue of Urizel the Uncertain to get out of the way of early diners from Ravenclaw. You sound squeaky, he said.

{ You've changed too! —Quick, say 'antediluvian'. }

"Antediluvian."

{ —Oho! I see now — you just asserted yourself at Professor Snape. You've grown up! You're more you than you used to be, so you're making me a sidebar, an adaptive-adoptive parenthetical. }

{ Sorry, } said Harry.

Don't be sorry, chided the Rupert. You sound positively tenorific! Oh, we've switched back. Well, there's nothing you can do that can't be done — important principle, that, foundation of repeat performances. We'll work on it.

A small rotating black disc came floating down the stairs, followed by two Ravenclaw girls. One of them — Daphne or Delia Jane or something, shocking blue hair and a red ribbon around her neck — was guiding it at wandpoint.

"'Did you bring enough for everyone, Miss Scrubb?'" she said. "Hey presto!"

The black disc, which Harry had now recognised from the wafting scent of liquorice as a Pontefract cake, expanded to the dimensions of a pizza.

"Not bad, hey, Mel?" said the grinning girl to her bemused friend. "And I'll probably get a point for nonverbal magic."

"But you'll still lose a point for being a smartass."

"Best kind. But how cool is it?"

"Extremely." said her friend. "Little, big! I am 100% behind it."

They trotted down the stairs and out of sight.

Now! said the Rupert. Where are we? En route to Astronomy and Divination Professors with a bottle of occulting argentum. Good. We need to stop in somewhere so you can make a Transfigurational copy of that for later use.

Harry looked around. { Where should we go? I'd use Myrtle Smith's washroom, but it's back in service. }

The lost and found, if it's still there, said the Rupert. I might want to do a bit of shopping there in any case.

{ Isn't that stealing? }

Actually? No. In Scotland ownerless objects are Crown property under the principle of bona vacantia, and according to Proceedings of the Wizengamot, unclaimed property in Hogwarts belongs to Hogwarts. Which, as acting caretaker, means us. Jam to-morrow and jam yesterday, but ut jam dominum non habeat today, in case anyone asks. Incidentally, I quite admire your conscience. Where can I get one like that?

{ By listening to Uncle Vernon cheat on his taxes...? }

Ah.

There was a rumble of feet from above and a flock of Gryffindors swirled into view, bound for dinner. The squabble over Ron's quidditch poster was still going on, although it had shifted away from the poster itself to how or whether the Chumbley Carrots could get any worse.

"They could do without a Seeker," suggested Dean Thomas.

"It's not like they ever use the one they've got," said Seamus Finnegan.

"Still not funny," said Ron, whose expression was blacker than his current hair.

"Wait, wait!" said Seamus. "They could get Boltashkin out of retirement!" That went over explosively.

"Who?" said Dean, once the laughter had died down.

"You don't—? Muggleborn!" said Seamus. "Only the worst Seeker ever. Historic! I've got a book..."

"Harry!" said Ron, in a looking-for-an-available-lifeboat voice. "Uh...you coming to dinner?"

"In a bit," said Harry, hefting the giant bottle. "Eventually. Making deliveries for teachers."

"I'll save you my dessert," said Ron gloomily, and trickled further down the stairs just as his twin brothers came charging up them.

"Lee! Hey, Lee-y!" bawled Fred over the heads of the crowd.

"Where are you, Mr Jordan?" yowled George.

They bread-and-buttered their way around Harry. "All right, Harry?" said Fred. "Getting in trouble?"

Harry said "Absolutely not," while nodding a firm Yes.

"Good man," said George, giving him a light punch on the arm.

"Hey," said Harry. "Would you two be interested in dinner at the Slytherin table? I've got you an invite."

"Seriously?" said George. "And here I thought that prefect couldn't stand us."

"He must be mellowing in his old age," said Fred.

"I can even take you to the common room. He says no outsider has entered it for more than seven centuries."

George looked at the ceiling and whistled innocently.

Fred coughed into his closed hand.

"...Honestly?" said Harry. "You've been?"

"We may have passed through," said Fred.

"On our way somewhere..."

"Only briefly, though."

"And never with a formal invitation."

"So basically we're saying ho yes we'll come."

"Cool," said Harry.

Lee Jordan rattlled down into view."Someone screaming for me?"

"'scuse us, H.P.," said Fred. "Business!"

"And what a product!" said George. After a cursory glance around he pulled a catalogue from inside his robes. "This just in from our supplier." He opened the catalogue to a center spread of fully-animated whole-spectrum typography with esses in the form of silver snakes and animated asterisks:

All New For '92!
Whiffier! Waftier!
Silent But Deadly
**SUPER SMELLYⓇ DUNGBOMBS**

"New Non-stick Stainless Formula means Fewer Beatings from Your Parents!" said Fred, reading from the copy.

"Twice the Power, Half the Thrashings!" said George.

"I like it," said Lee.

"We just need to work up a plan to buy at tier two quantity discount. Money being the, you should pardon the expression, sticking point."

"Well," said Jordan, descending a thoughtful step, "Worcester in Hufflepuff owes me two galleons..."

#

Harry knocked at the Divination teacher's door ("Enter!") and then forced it open against the resistance of either a slightly warped frame or the cloud of incense that filled the entire room like patchouli-scented cotton batting.

"...but Sybill, if there's mildew you should tell the caretaker!" said Professor Sinistra.

"Well...one mustn't complain..." responded Professor Trelawney.

"Yes, Sybill, one must!"

Harry poked his head inside and then insinuated the rest of himself. The professors were having tea at a circular table with a shrouded crystal ball in its center.

"Sorry about the delay, Professor Snape made me wait," said Harry. Both true, any inferences taken weren't his fault... { Oh, no, } he thought, { I'm slything! }

Yes! said the Rupert. Fun, isn't it?

"Wait? Dear me," said Trelawney, looking to the nearest clock, "where has the time gone?"

Harry set the bottles on the table and stepped back, carefully not asking will-there-be-anything-else because he knew how that worked. (In the infinite chores list department, Aunt Petunia would fit right in with with Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker...)

"Don't go running off," said Sinistra. "Sybill, if you would be so kind as to give your spare glasses a thorough cleaning with Professor Snape's finest?"

While Trelawney wrestled with the enormous flask of glass cleaner, Sinistra placed the tiny vial of occulting argentum into a fresh cup of really hot tea. (Occulting argentum was liquid at normal room temperature, but once it solidified, as had happened in Professor Snape's slightly-colder-than-Scrooge's office, wouldn't melt again without help.) Once it had changed state she loaded her wand from the fluid with the same fountain-pen charm the Weasleys used with their light-pens.

"Are we ready, Sybill?"

"I suppose so," said Trelawney, holding her spare glasses up to the light. "Is this going to be difficult?"

"Oh, it's actually easier if you don't know what you're doing," said Sinistra.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The objective is to bind the argentum into the fine structure of the surface of the glass. The simplest way to do that is through applied incompetence at Transfiguration."

"I beg your pardon?" said Trelawney (again).

Sinistra smiled and waved her wand in a small circle. "The quick and easy way to silver a glass is with glass, in the form of a thin film of inadequately-transfigured argentum, which binds by virtue of being the same substance, and remains bound even after reverting.

"When one's body is in Transfiguration class but one's mind is, shall we say, on other subjects, one learns inadvertently to perform Transfigurations that fail to persist. Quite useful when you are tired of mucking about with ammonia and oil of cassia. Does your mind tend to wander, Sybill?"

"Er," said Trelawney, "what?"

"Splendid!" said Sinistra. "Now, watch carefully..."

{ You'd be good at this, Rupert, } said Harry, watching carefully.

I like to think I have a free-range mind, retorted the Rupert. I'm training it to fetch.

#

"Voila!" said Sinistra. "Try them on."

Professor Trelawney tried them on. Then she stared at the bare wall opposite with fascination. "Most intriguing!" she said after a few moments.

"What do you see?" asked Professor Sinistra.

"It's hard to describe. I could always see the grain of the paint, but now there are faces. Which is normal for the first —"

Breaking her thought in half, she got up and went to an escritoire in the corner of the room, returning with a blank sheet of paper and a bottle of ink. After splashing the paper with a few drops of ink she folded it in half, pressed it, opened it again and drew a hexagon over the pattern, and finally drew her wand. "Recensio," she said.

She stared at the paper as thought it were an unexpected testimonial dinner. "My goodness," she said, and swapped her modified and unmodified glasses back and forth a few times while murmuring "Fascinating!"

And then she turned to Harry — possibly to say something, but instead immediately fixated on the Scar. She leaned in and out, penetratingly focused in a way that Harry found deeply uncomfortable.

"Did you find something in your inkblot, Sybill?" said Sinistra.

"Oh," said Trelawney. She turned back to the blotted paper and picked it up. "Yes! What does it look like to you?"

"A butterfly?" guessed Professor Sinistra.

"Exactly!" said Trelawney, lowering her mirrored glasses into place. "But with these on I perceive a butterfly made of smaller butterflies. Butterflies all the way down. —I have no idea how to interpret it!" she added, sounding strangely pleased.

She turned back to Harry and...resumed treating him as though he were three-dimensional, which of course he was. "Oh my, yes," she said. "I do look forward to having you in my class. You would make a wonderful Object."

Harry really wanted to change the subject.

Shouldn't you, prompted the Rupert —

— but no, Harry was already there, change the subject to the subject. "Shouldn't I already be in your class?" said Harry. "Don't you sort of have to have a talent for divination? So...it would make sense to sort out the students as soon as possible...divide the cans from the can'ts in first year."

"I've long thought the same," said Trelawney, stepping back to reality with regret. "I keep intending to raise the subject at High Table, but..."

But, supplied the Rupert, when she gets within ten feet of Dumbledore on Welcome Feast Night, something just shrivels inside her, and she ends up calling the kitchen elves for room service the whole rest of the year.

Sinistra summed that explanation with an exasperated snort. "Sybill, one must. In fact," she said, getting up from the table, "perhaps we should go see about a few things right now."

"Oh, dear," said Trelawney faintly.

"Believe me, I sympathise," said Sinistra, bussing her tea-things. "It's a bit like my supply closet. You think you'll tidy up, you open the door and then just reel backwards and close it again...but to everything there is a seasoning, and to-day I have ginger to spare! Come along, Sybill!"

"You mean right now right now?" said Trelawney, with vague-but-rapidly-focusing horror.

"Of course! Professor Dumbledore will be early to dinner — this is his day to avoid late-afternoon Floo calls."

Along with Professor Trelawney, Harry was caught up in Sinistra's wake as she swept from the room. "Mr Potter," she told him, "you are free to go, but kindly be an hour early to class for the remainder of your detention."

It was better than staying an hour after...but it reminded him of the wasted witching hour.

"Professor Sinistra," said Harry, walking backwards in front of her, "why do we have Astronomy class at midnight? I mean, magic. Can't we use...time-turners or something?"

Sinistra gave him the eyebrow raised and fixed. "Time-turners are far too fiddly for such things, all the more so of late," said Sinistra. "—Mind the stairs."

"Hm?" He backed into empty space, did a twisting 180 and landed on his feet on the second step.

Harry, are you a jock? Asked the Rupert.

{ No, } said Harry, feeling slightly resentful. { I'm an athlete. }

"But," continued Sinistra, "thank you for reminding me of another issue I've long intended to raise. Technically, Hogwarts is sister-schooled with Wallabee Academy in Australia. Once upon a more reasonable time there was an Astronomy class Floo Swap, with the intent of unifying night and day, so to speak, but it was discontinued in 1937 as a security risk. Grindelwald, you see..."

"They never restarted it? The wars are over."

"As Grindelwald observed," said the professor in tones of heavy irony, "to make the unacceptable into the normal requires only time. The old guard retire and their replacements never raise the question. I see no reason not to resume—"

"Budget," said Trelawney dolefully.

Harry cast a glance over his shoulder and suddenly realised that Professor Trelawney looked like The Fillyjonk Who Believed In Disasters.

"Are you speaking professionally, Sybill?"

"Well, no."

"Then let us hear no more about it!" said Sinistra.

#

"And you're still not done?" said Ron, toying with a piece of chicken that had never seen the inside of an egg.

"Beats flinging cold poo in the dark," said Harry. "I get enough of that already."

"What, flinging poo?"

"No, the cold and dark. Hang on, I'm being signalled." (Beaconsfield was attempting to flag him back to the Slytherin table. Two Weasleys and half a Potter (possibly a quarter of a Potter) were not quite what he'd been hoping for.)

It was proving an interesting dinner, not least because he'd forgotten to tell Ron about the Slytherin thing and so he ended up crossing back and forth between tables for an hour, but that was all right because — and here he picked up his dish of pie — two desserts.

Which also fits neatly into the major-minor House plan, said the Rupert. Centuries of suspicion and enmity undone by the prospect of an extra dessert. Incidentally, you've got strawberry cream dribble on your tie. No, don't wipe it off yet.

{ Why not? } said Harry, crossing the empty space between the isolated philosophical universes of G&S again.

Look at the faces up-table. Any table will do. There are still people who look askance at you for the double-sided tie, but when it's got strawberry cream on it they mostly just want to cast scrubbadubbio at you. Some of them even think it's cute. Like that loose trainer lace you're trailing.

{ I don't want to be cute! } said Harry, stopping in the middle of the room to tie his laces. This involved holding his dish in his teeth. Belatedly it occurred to him that he was probably not helping his case.

At High Table Professor Dumbledore was carrying on two conversations at once.

"Minister Fudge does love to go on about the need for increased austerity...I'm not sure why...but I rather think we can manage to find sufficient Floo powder, there's probably bags of it in a dusty old cupboard somewhere, why else would we have so many dusty old cupboards?" he said to Sinistra at his right, and then to Trelawney at his left continued smoothly "Divination by lightning? Really? The things one misses when one selects a major too early."

"Oh yes," said Trelawney. "It was very 'in' once. The Roman senate had a lightning-diviner on staff. Generally a muggle even then, so he didn't do real divining, he just kept an eye on the debates and sent everyone home on account of lightning when fights broke out.

"...My goodness," she added, "I haven't thought of that since I was in school."

"You are in school," surled Professor Snape.

"As are we all, Severus," said Dumbledore. "As are we all."

"The difficult part is that you really need to see the upstroke as well as the down," said Trelawney, oblivious.

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore, and then to his right continued smoothly "And if Arithmancy is a prerequisite for proper Astronomy, I am inclined to think the subjects should be adjusted in the schedule..."

Beaconsfield looked as though things were going a little too swimmingly, but was putting a brave face on it.

"...and that's why we always carry screwdrivers," said Fred. "Cold iron, you can't beat it."

"Don't you mean steel?" said Harry.

"We've never stolen anything!" said George indignantly. "Nothing with an identifiable owner."

Harry looked down the table. He noticed two things: notes were being taken, and Malfoy was still not present. Which was probably...good?

"Have you seen Malfoy lately?" asked Beaconsfield.

"Library, earlier," supplied Harry. "Should I know?"

"Well, that's what friends are for," said Beaconsfield, making it a question.

Harry had two simultaneous reactions: knee-jerk truth that D. Malfoy was not actually a friend, abutted by a sinking feeling that D. Malfoy must be hard up for friends.

Why should that be a sinking feeling?

He thought about it.

After a while he became aware that Beaconsfield had just softly and silently Vanished away the strawberry cream splot from his tie. Possibly without realising he'd done it. The tie was still red-and-gold side out; no one seemed to have noticed.

Slytherin. Hagrid didn't like Slytherin, but Hagrid...when had he even been a student? Time changes.

He contemplated the crust of his second slice of pie and wondered if Ron was actually saving him a third.

House of ambition, house of plotters, house of...

...cunning folk...

perhaps in Slytherin you'll meet your real friends—

He hadn't really thought of Slytherin as a friend-oriented House. Friends weren't...strategic. Allies were strategic.

Crabbe and Goyle.

And even if strategy was just the means, you couldn't strategise your way into friendship.

Maybe that was the sinking feeling.

He had friends, but had no idea how he'd made them. Because he hadn't. It was the Rupert who'd made them, who just latched onto them, and then sort of presented them as a gift. If not for that example he'd have nothing to go on. Dudley didn't have friends, Dudley had a gang.

Now it was a chilly feeling. If he'd gotten on the Hogwarts Express all by himself, what would he have done? Just sat there, probably, and waited to see what happened next.

Wasn't Malfoy Manor in the middle of nowhere?

Well, okay, floo network. Play dates? But then again: Crabbe and Goyle.

Next to him the Weasleys continued carrying on as though they'd always been at the Slytherin table. They just slotted in.

He'd never slotted in anywhere.

Except at Hogwarts. Hogwarts had actually wanted him. Hogwarts had been rather insistent, really.

Wouldn't it have been weird if the reason he'd gotten so many letters was that the school itself had been sending them, no staff involved?

That would be brilliant.

"Terry?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"When I was on Platform 9 3/4, did you look for me?"

"Of course," said Beaconsfield. "How could I not? But I was looking for the centre of attention, and you weren't it."

"Draco Malfoy came looking for me."

"Yeah, I heard," said Beaconfield. "Marching orders from Papa Bear, I expect. I don't know where he'd be without Letters from Home. Oh, here he comes now."

Draco Malfoy? said the Rupert. Insecure, vain, superficial, blond, needy. I like him.

{ Shut up, } said Harry. { I'm thinking. }

#

After dinner he went to the library with Ron to do their Astronomy homework, due in four hours. Hermione thought you should do your homework immediately after you got it, but that seemed horribly, horribly wrong in some way.

"Question two, in your own words, define a Draconic year," said Ron. "Oh, you have got to be kidding. I'm glad we're not doing Astronomy with the Slytherins, we'd never hear the end of it."

"So is it, like, a Chinese year?" said Harry. "I didn't do the reading."

"Really?" said Ron. "You know, you're a lot less keen than you were in September. And quieter."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I think it's all the quidditch practice. I'm tuckered out. I may sleep through Christmas vacation."

He flipped to the index in his Astronomy book, but it wasn't listed, and Ron reported at the same moment that it wasn't in the glossary either. No surprise; it was actually a pretty well-designed book, but Sinistra loved to make sure you'd read it.

The interval between two successive conjunctions of the sun with the same node of the moon's orbit, said the Rupert. Page 97.

Harry flipped to page 97. "Page 97," he said.

"That was quick," said Ron.

"Maybe it's my luck evening out!" he said brightly.

Ron opened his book with an audible creak. "So how can you stand playing chess with Malfoy?" he said. "Or is he nicer once you get to know him?"

"I haven't gotten to know him," admitted Harry. "I can tell you all about his dad if you like."

"Any good dirt?" said Ron hopefully.

"He leaves his dirty shirts all over the place," said Harry, somewhat to his own surprise. It was probably true. Draco hadn't actually said any such thing, but he'd twitched when Millicent Bulstrode said it about her dad. It was a pretty good twitch, that twitch. Probably a lot of loud complaints from Mrs Malfoy behind that twitch.

"...Only shirts?" said Ron.

"Probably," said Harry. "I didn't ask about the state of his bathroom doorknob."

Fortunately, Madam Pince had cast a sort of moderate general silencio on the library, so they didn't get thrown out.

"Right," said Ron a while later. "Question three: in your own words, explain Colbert's Paradox..."

#

The remainder of his detention was supposed to be about helping Professor Sinistra clean out the supply closet — which probably should have been called the I-can't-cope-with-this closet; there had obviously been previous attempts at sorting it, but they'd just disordered the strata — but that ended after ten minutes when they came across several long cardboard boxes.

"My goodness, I'd forgotten all about these," she said, taking long paper tubes of various sizes out of their dusty containers . "I haven't even thought about them since...1986!"

"What are they?" asked Harry, but she was already unrolling one of them. It was a colour cutaway diagram of the European Space Agency's first Ariane rocket.

"Muggle space posters?" said Harry.

"Quite exotic, don't you think?" she said. "And come to think of it, ideal for decorating the third floor. It's looked terribly bare for far too long."

"I mean — you collect Muggle space posters?"

"Once upon a time," she said, and unrolled another poster next to Ariane — a black-and-white artist's impression of a satellite-looking thing labelled Луна. "When it comes to determining the names of the stars, however romantic and impossible it may be —" she placed an Apollo-Soyuz poster between the other two, the red chevron of the old NASA logo pointing like an arrow from the former to the latter — "there's no substitute for just going out there and asking them."

Progress, said the Rupert.

#

And so Harry finished his detention by hanging posters on the third floor of the Astronomy tower, which was nothing like what he'd expected to be doing at eleven o'clock of any night, anywhere, really.

They did look quite nice. The prime spot at the top of the stairs was now home to a large and beautiful full-colour poster depicting the launch of Satellite X-3 from Woomera in 1971 (it wouldn't fit anywhere else, which was good because it was either that or the Starship Enterprise, which Harry didn't want to explain).

There were some things Professor Sinistra wasn't quite clear on.

Having done with artists' impressions of the universe he followed Professor upstairs for a look at the real thing, which was, in its favour, life-size.

He turned in his homework under a sky darker than black and full of white stars —

stars so sharp they don't even hurt.

{ I wish you wouldn't interrupt like that, you know, } thought Harry. { I don't even know I'm thinking until I'm interrupted and it's just weird. }

Sorry. —No. Wait, hang about, not sorry, she's the teacher, you can ask her a question for me.

{ What question? }

The Rupert told him.

{ That's a weird question, but okay. }

Harry raised his hand.

"Class hasn't begun yet," sighed the Professor, "but — yes?"

"What happens?" He raised his hand further skyward. "At the end. I haven't read that far."

"Of the universe?" she said, pointing her wand at the department coffee maker, which burbled and dripped liquid sky. "The ultimate doom of the cosmos? A heady question, and not answered in the text. Perhaps I should silver a telescope mirror with occulting argentum so we can see for ourselves."

"I'm not sure my Inner Eye can see that far," he said.

"Nor mine," she said. "But all composite things decay, Mr Potter. The consensus view is that eventually there's nothing left but light and magic."

Harry waited to hear what Rupert had to say about that.

"...good," he echoed. "Magic's good."

"I've always found it so," said the teacher.

And class began—