I was chasing a boy. He was running in front of me, heading straight into the deep shadows of the forest. His black robes billowed out behind him. He was in a hurry, his destination clear, evident by his long, purposeful strides. Somehow, I knew, I was back at Hogwarts. At we were on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Wait!" I called, hurrying after him, trying to stop him, but unable to bridge the distance. He disappeared under the gloom of the towering pine trees.

I stumbled over a root in my haste. The scent of dark soil and heavy fir made my nose sting. The gathering darkness was blacker here, and I reached for my wand, stowed in my belt.

"Lumos!" I shouted, igniting the air in front of me. I quickened my lagging pace. The thick undergrowth tore at the hem of my shirt, but I had to catch the boy. I knew that if I didn't, he would be lost to me forever.

The thick trees opened abruptly into a ravine. Here, the odor of sweat and blood overpowered the scent of the trees. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled in warning.

Several pairs of death-white eyes reflected eerily at me from the shadows under the trees lining the edge of the ravine. I backed up, hoping to escape the same way I had come in, but I was surrounded. The eyes loomed closer.

Someone grabbed me from behind. I wrestled against the grip, fighting my way free by sheer force. I whirled around, wand pointed at my attacker, the name of a spell already on my lips.

"Stupe-…"

The words died in my throat.

The boy I had been pursuing gazed down at me. Until now, his back had been to me. His normally green eyes were pale and reflected white like the others staring me down from the shadows. The scars slashing down his face in a cruel sideways motion were raw and ragged and fresh.

I didn't dare move. I swallowed hard, wand hand shaking. My voice came out much steadier and calmer than I felt. "We need to go. Now."

But the boy stared down at me wordlessly. There was a chorus of howls behind us. Then he opened his mouth, exposing long white fangs, and grabbed both of my arms with unnatural strength. He jerked me close, chest to chest, and plunged his razor-like teeth deep into my neck.

I woke up gasping for breath. My hands reached for my wounded neck, probing, searching frantically for warm blood or fresh tears. But it was smooth, soft, unbroken skin. My pulse pounded in my ears and underneath my fingers, mouth dry as cotton. I was trembling, still seeing the face of the monster boy just before he had attacked.

I had been chasing him… but why? To save him? Warn him? Or destroy him?

Why had I dreamt of Remus?

Swallowing convulsively, I rose on unsteady feet and quickly washed and dressed for the day. I zipped up a gray woolen sweater with a large hood and hurried downstairs. I wore jeans that ended at my ankles because it was too cold for shorts. It was nearly ten in the morning.

"There you are." Mum said as I entered the kitchen, frowning. "I was about to wake you. Dumbledore sent an owl this morning. Your summer lessons begin today."

"I know." I tried to shake the remnants of the nightmare by thinking of breakfast, but instead of enticing my appetite, I felt my throat tighten up in a wave of nausea.

Mum peered at me closely. "Are you feeling alright, dear?"

I nodded slowly. "Just a bad dream."

"I told you to stop reading those scary books." Mum tuttered, waving her wand and producing a china cup with a flourish. She tapped a tea kettle, which immediately whistled with boiling water, and poured it in. She added a bag of mango passionfruit tea – my favorite.

She smiled kindly, handing the steaming mug to me. "Sit. I'll make you something for lunch."

Unnerved by her pleasant demeanor, I warily eased myself into a chair in the adjoining dining room. The chandelier glowed faintly in the light of the morning sun, a few tiny fairies sitting thoughtfully on the iron wroughts. They had either wandered in during the night or been captured by Naomi. I tried to focus on the fairies instead of the nightmare, which still felt too real for my comfort.

"Your father is at work." Mum said as she placed a brown bag in front of me. "Naomi has decided to join Pee Wee Quidditch."

I looked up, surprised. "I didn't know she played."

Mum smiled. "Yes, well… neither did I. Or your father. But she says she's been playing for the past two years with her friends. You know, Celia Sweets and Mindy Longford? Apparently she's been bewitching my broom to play." She shook her head, looking proud. "I had no idea the kind of magic she was capable of."

I hadn't the faintest idea either. But what was more intriguing was the fact that Mum – who never showed a shred of interest in either me or Naomi – was carrying on about her like she was baby Jesus.

With a familiar stab of guilt, I guessed that this newfound attention came only because her gaze was no longer eternally vigilant upon Virginia and her fluctuating health.

"Anyway," Mum continued, "I've decided to get her a real broom in a few years, when she's old enough. Maybe ten years old. It'll give us some time to save up for it. Speaking of birthdays… what would you like? Yours is only two months away, you know. You'll be thirteen. A teenager!"

Awkwardly, I sipped my tea, which was screaming hot, making tiny, but clearly audible, shrills.

"Um, I don't really know." Mum had never offered to buy me anything. She had always waited for me to approach her with a request. In fact, when I had gone with her and my sisters to Diagon Alley two years ago to purchase my school supplies, I had to practically force her to buy us lunch. Her stinginess was only exempt to Virginia.

"Well, think about it." Mum said sternly. "A racing broom, a new owl-"

"I like Soren just fine." I interjected firmly. "He's perfect."

"Oh, well, that's good too." Mum said dismissively. "I'd just figured… you know… since he was a wild owl that your father caught in the barn… that you'd want a real owl. A trained owl."

"Well, I've trained him just fine, thanks." I said shortly, defensive at the thought of parting with my sweet barn owl.

Mum sighed. "Yes, Amber, alright. No need to bite my head off." She flung a dry white washcloth over one shoulder, humming as she washed dishes. I stared at her, wondering if it was possible that Dad had simply divorced Mum, married a sweeter, motherly woman, and had her take Polyjuice Potion daily to fool Naomi and I into thinking it was actually Lena Harkstone, the woman who had given birth to us.

But I knew Dad would never do such a thing. His loyalty to Mum ran too deep. He would stay with her for life, even if she was sometimes a downright horror at times.

By the time I looked back at my tea, a fairy had descended from the chandelier and was now half-submerged in the hot liquid, leaning back against the rim of the cup in relaxed contentment amongst the constant screams from the hot water. I rose to my feet and filled a water bottle in the kitchen from the tap.

"I'll be back around four." I told Mum, who had begun to slice raw chicken breasts on the counter with a sharp knife that I eyed very carefully.

"Have fun." Mum wished, humming louder.

With a last dubious look at her, I exited the house and made my way to the giant tire swing hanging from a sprawling elm tree in front of the house. I swung on it lazily for barely a minute when there was a loud crack and a witch dressed in all black robes Apparated in the middle of our front yard.

Her sudden appearance brought Romulus streaking in from the barn, baying loudly in warning. Several horses scattered in the pasture in panic at the gunshot-like noise, crying loudly. The chickens scattered, squawking and flapping in fruitless attempts to take flight.

I stared at Willow Smith, who turned and faced me with a blank expression. Her brows lifted as a tiny brown hen finally rose into the air and flew clumsily into a branch twenty-five feet above the ground.

"Well… I can see that Apparating directly to your house was a mistake." She said calmly.

I laughed once as Romulus paced around me, howling. "I guess."

Professor Smith surveyed the property, her green eyes shrewd. In the sunlight, I could see where her brown hair was shot through with faint gray streaks. "Where are your parents?"

"Dad's at work. He works for the Ministry. Mum's inside. She's… busy."

"I see." She didn't push the subject. "Shall we?"

I hopped off the tire and followed her to the edge of the yard, where our property met the lonely country road that led into town a half mile away.

"Do you mind walking?" I said awkwardly. "We can't exactly take the horses."

A smile twitched across Professor Smith's lips. "That wasn't the kind of transportation I had in mind."

She let out a low whistle. She reached into her robes and withdrew a piece of raw meat, the size of my palm. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

She issued another whistle. There was a rustling in the rough hedges on the other side of the road. Then, the bushes parted. Though nothing was there, I could hear something moving closer to us. I backed up, uneasy.

"No need to be frightened." Professor Smith said, as the piece of raw meat disappeared from her hand in a flash. "It's a thestral."

"A thestral?" I echoed. "I can't see it."

"You've never seen someone die." Professor Smith concluded. "I figured a Ravenclaw would know what a thestral was."

I felt indignant heat rise to my face. "I do know what it is. I've just never seen one. I've read that they're like skeletal horses with leathery, black skin and bat-like wings. They're carnivorous and gentle."

"Did you know they pull the carriages at Hogwarts?" Professor Smith said.

In spite of myself, I could feel my jaw drop. "They do?"

Professor Smith climbed up, looking very strange in a straddling position five feet off the ground. She offered a hand. "I'll help you get up."

Filled with trepidation, I took her hand, which was surprisingly strong, and felt her lift me easily onto a solid, invisible seat. The seat moved beneath me – just like a horse.

"Hold on to the front." Professor Smith instructed from behind. "Grip it tightly."

"Why?" I asked nervously.

I felt her dig her heels in behind me. A second later, I realized her words had very valid reasoning.

There was a snort, and suddenly, we were in the air, leaving the ground behind alarmingly fast.

I threw myself forward onto the invisible mass and hung on for dear life. The wind whistled past my ears and hair, making my eyes stream. But as we glided along smoothly, I realized that it wasn't so bad. In fact, it was better than riding a broomstick, which I had done twice. Both times, I had crashed.

"This is awesome!" I yelled.

Professor Smith nudged her heels again into the flanks, and barely a minute after the flight had begun, we were circling in a slow descent. The thestral landed lightly and gracefully before a small brick building with wide glass windows. Professor Smith hopped down easily and assisted me. I heard the whoosh of air that meant the thestral must have taken off again.

"Will we get back the same way?" I asked breathlessly, the sweet pounding of my adrenaline making me want more.

Professor Smith looked amused. "If you'd like. I thought it might be too much for you, but my nephew mentioned you had an aptitude for challenges. And flying."

"Your nephew?"

"Sean Locke."

My jaw dropped. "You're his aunt?"

"What?" She said, eyes twinkling. "Can't see the family resemblance?"

Actually, I could. Because of the picture of Sean in my room, I could identify the same heart-shaped face, the same long, well-defined nose, and the same chestnut-brown hair shot through with red tinges.

Professor Smith tapped a single brick in an odd, but clearly purposeful, pattern. She waited a moment before turning the brass knob and pushing open the door.

Instead of the tiny two-roomed meeting hall, the Queen's Hall had suddenly become a gigantic auditorium. We stood on the terrace, looking down over the front rows of chairs and onto a magnificent stage with ceiling-length red curtains. Looming behind us were two towering balconies.

I had only been to the Queen's Hall once, to see the Snow Queen, when I was Naomi's age. Bellinghall was known across the country as the home of the best auditorium in Great Britain, but it had stood vacant for the past six months after the owner had put it on the market, sparking a war between several buyers and placing the usage in limbo. Even now, small motes of dust kicked up as we walked towards the stage.

"My sister, Rose Locke, works in the Ministry, like your father." Professor Smith informed me. "She designs buildings around the country for wizards and witches. She also happens to be best friends with the Head of Architectural Security." She winked. "Which means that I had a free, all-access pass to the Hall."

I walked around slowly, craning my neck to see into the high, domed ceiling of the hall, where a night sky glittered.

"This is amazing." I whispered.

"You'll find that this is an excellent place to really allow yourself to try your strengths." Professor Smith continued, striding confidently onto the gleaming stage, waving her wand to pull back the heavy crimson curtains. "Have you considered drama club at Hogwarts?"

"Not really." I admitted, trying to guess how many seats the hall sat. "I don't really have time. I study and hang out with my friends."

"You ought to consider it." She said. "Come. I would like you to demonstrate a few basic Charms for me on stage."

Despite the obvious fact that the auditorium was empty, my legs suddenly turned to jelly as I slowly ascended the stairs. I looked out onto the thousands-strong seats, filled with nothing but air, and felt dizzy.

"Don't worry about that." She said dismissively. "You'll soon appreciate the grandeur of our training place. First, I would like you to demonstrate a Shield Charm."

Swallowing hard, I circled my wand and made a slashing motion. "Protego!" I cried, and an iridescent blue sphere flashed over me. It vanished a moment later.

Professor Smith nodded approvingly. "Excellent. That is a fourth year benchmark. Professor Flitwick wasn't boasting of your skills; he was accurately reporting them."

I blushed.

Professor Smith paced around the stage, wand behind her back. "What other spells do you know?"

"Um…" I racked my brain. "Charms?"

"Anything."

I frowned. "I know how to Disarm… Stupefy…"

She raised a brow. "Have you used it? The Stunning Spell? Outside of class?"
I thought of James and Sirius, of Folsom. "Yes." I admitted.

"Not to worry, I'm not here to punish you." She turned and reversed direction. "What do you know about vampires?"

Coldness dropped into the empty pit of my stomach. I realized I'd forgotten my bagged lunch at home on the kitchen table.

"I know they're immortal." I recalled. "But they're not invincible. They can't starve to death; they'll only get weaker without a blood meal. It takes three bites from a vampire to change a victim into a vampire too. They burn in sunlight and will turn to ashes. A wooden stake through the heart can kill them. Holy water, crosses, and garlic burn them. They can't enter a building uninvited."

"They also don't have reflections, no heartbeat, are immune to disease, enjoy extreme pleasures, and are undead." Professor Smith continued. Of course, there is much, much more than that, but that kind of material you'll be learning with me at the end of this school year in the classroom. What you do need to know is the basics, and why they are so dangerous to you, but not to Remus. Not nearly as much, I should say."

I frowned. "He tried to attack both of us, though. I don't understand."

Professor Smith sighed. "I knew Mackenzie wouldn't convey this kind of information to his students… considering it would be detrimental to his safety." She pointed to a painting of a moon hanging over a dark lake hanging near the stage. "Remus, being a werewolf, cannot be infected with the same virus that causes the body to transform into the undead parasite we know as the vampire. For the vast majority of the time, Remus, and any other werewolf, can live a normal human life. Except for that special little time of the month, when the moon is full. Something about the strength of the lunar beams triggers something in their infected DNA to cause a massive transformation. Of course, our information is still very limited, but several alchemists have been trying to find solutions or cures for many years. Have you heard of Marcus Belby?"

"I can't say that I have." I admitted, reeling from the information, but drinking it in. It explained so much about Remus, and about Folsom.

"He's been studying lycanthropy for most of his career. You're not supposed to know this, since it's Ministry-sensitive information, but he very well could have a potion that relieves many of the symptoms of becoming a werewolf."

"What does this have to do with Folsom, though?" I pressed, feeling the first surges of frustrations. "How come he's safe from Folsom and I'm not?"

"Because," Professor Smith said, hardly looking annoyed, but rather, invigorated at the questions, "he can't harm a werewolf. He can injure them, certainly, but unless he has silver bullets, he can't. And since vampires are highly allergic to silver-"

"They are?" I interrupted.

"Yes. It's part of the physiological changes they undergo as becoming a vampire. Vampires virtually cannot kill werewolves. And even though there is a well-known animosity between the two species, it's quite clear that vampires fear werewolves more than werewolves fear them. There are many ways to kill vampires, but unfortunately, I think Folsom may have eliminated many of those methods."

"He can't be killed by sunlight." I realized aloud. "When I was in…"

I shut my mouth quickly, heart pounding. I had been a second from admitting that I had been in Sirius's kitchen, dining with Folsom and Orion Black. That information had to remain exclusively within the Marauders. There was no telling how much trouble I (or Sirius) would be in if it came to light.

I cleared my throat loudly to try and cover my near-blunder. "I've noticed that in class, he avoids sunlight. He usually has classes only at night. I thought he was allergic, like, deathly allergic, to sunlight, but I think he isn't harmed by it."

"Not anymore." Professor Smith confirmed. "Unfortunately, Folsom was a very close friend… well, partner, of Voldemort."

I lifted a brow. "You don't fear the name?"

"Do you?" She replied shrewdly.

I considered this; the label of a faceless evil that I had never met, and never hoped to cross paths with. "Not really."

"Good. As my former teacher once told me… 'fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself'."

"Wise words." I muttered.

"Folsom and Voldemort, in school, were very interested in the Dark Arts. There were nasty incidents at our school when I attended with them. It cultivated in that poor girl, Myrtle Warren, being murdered in my fifth year. Most of the incidents ceased after that… or just were very hushed up." Her gaze was trained on some spot faraway, her eyes glassy. "I'm afraid that the same sort of thing may be beginning again at Hogwarts. History tends to repeat itself when we don't learn from it the first time."

I digested this, trying to imagine how much worse things could get at Hogwarts. So far, the gang of Slytherin boys hadn't bothered us any further. But even young Regulus had tried to use an Unforgiveable Curse on me… and that meant an instant life term in Azkaban. And with ruthless Barty Crouch slowly rising through the Ministry… As Dad had said, his co-worker would be brutal enough to send a child like Naomi to the prison, if he suspected her of anything related to the Dark Arts.

I shivered at the thought. Professor Smith was watching me.

"I hope I haven't told you too much." She said after a moment.

I shrugged, trying to show that this new information hadn't shaken me inside. "It's alright. I guess I had to learn this sometime. Especially since I'm a special case, and all."

"Indeed." Professor Smith tapped her wand against her thigh. "Can you think of anything that might drive away a vampire, aside from a werewolf?"
I thought hard. "Wooden stakes, holy water, garlic, crosses, sunlight, werewolves…" I frowned. "But how many of those are effective against him?"
"Like I said," Professor Smith murmured, "Folsom was close with Voldemort. I'm sure those two figured out several defenses against unsavory weaknesses. I know for certain that Mackenzie was always aspiring for immortality… whereas Tom was more focused on proving himself. We all thought he would become the next Minister of Magic by thirty years old."

Tom. His name, before he had changed it.

She sighed again. "I have a theory… and it just may work… and Dumbledore agrees with me, that perhaps, like Inferi, vampires fear light and warmth. Fire, and happiness. Vampires have much in common with Dementors. It hasn't been proven in every case… in fact, less than half of all attempts failed… but I think Mackenzie may be one of the suseceptible ones."

"To what?" I pressed, intrigued.

Professor Smith smiled. "The Patronus Charm."

Patronus Charm… I had skimmed over the term in a book months ago. And Dad was proficient enough with one that he could use it whenever he needed. Even just to usher horses back into the barn for the night.

I paced eagerly, twirling my wand in my hands, excited. "Can you teach me how to do it?"

Professor Smith looked amused. She tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. "That's why I'm your summer tutor."

She nodded to the opposite end of the stage. "I want you to remember that producing a Patronus, even a noncorporeal Patronus, is extremely advanced magic. You have some kind of protection from Voldemort with your twin cores, but from Mackenzie… you must be ready to defend your very life. And unfortunately, brings us to where we are today. You must be ready to inflict harm, even kill, to defend your own life. Do you understand?"

Her green gaze was trained so intensely upon me that I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. "Yes." I said solemnly.

"Good." She nodded once in approval. "A Patronus is the projection of your most positive feelings. It is the only form of protection against lethifolds, as well."

"Those horrible things?" I gasped, the memory jumping back at me like a bolt of lightning. "They're like black cloaks, aren't they? And they're half an inch thick. And they're thicker if they've recently eaten a victim…"

I paled at the macabre thought.

Professor Smith was grinning. "The Sorting Hat did well with you. I wouldn't have expected a third year to spout out facts like you do. Keep this up, and you'll win the House Cup for sure."

I grunted agreement. For the past two years running, Gryffindor had won the honor, mostly due to Sirius and James and their flamboyant Quidditch games.

"The Patronus Charm," Professor Smith went on, "is made with a counterclockwise circle, ending in a little flourish like this." She demonstrated. "The Charm is only good for as long as you retain your positive feelings. You cannot surrender to despair."

"Got it." I said, feeling uneasy already. How many happy memories did I have? The ugly thought was daunting.

"Don't lose it now." She warned. "Everyone has happy memories they can draw from. It's all a matter of how badly you want it, and how determined you are to get it."

I concentrated hard, racking my memory. There was my first day back at Hogwarts… but Mum hadn't been there to properly send me off, so that wasn't good. I thought of hexing Sirius and James' hair pink, but even though it had been funny at the time, I knew it wouldn't even produce a fart of a Patronus.

"Think hard." She urged.

Memories… so many memories. Most of them were haunted by Virginia and her sickness, or Mum's refusal to be impressed by anything, or Dad's absences, or Naomi's cloistering away from it all. Even at Hogwarts, most of my memories involved studying or being with Remus and Lily and the wilder boys in the Marauders.

But what about a memory that didn't exist? What if I simply imagined a happy thought, real or not?

Several images flitted inside of my mind at once. One of them was Remus pulling me from the lake, and then a second later, holding the sides of the House Cup with Lily in our final year, tying our Houses and each other as top students. Another followed of Mum pulling me into a hug as a child, no sisters or brothers present, telling me I was perfect and the only baby she'd ever need. Then an even stranger one darted in its stead: me, on a silver racing broom, blue Quidditch robes streaming behind me, a maroon Quaffle clutched under my arm as I sped towards the hoops. I shot a goal through a second before our Seeker caught the Snitch, giving Ravenclaw a ten-point margin victory. I landed on the field, immediately swamped by everyone on the Ravenclaw team, and a moment later was caught up in the arms of an opposing player… Sean Locke. He grinned down at me and kissed me soundly on the lips. And the strangest thing of all happened: when Sean pulled back to gaze lovingly at me, it was Remus's face, not Sean's, that stared back at me.

I shook my head twice, trying to dislodge the startling and completely unexpected thoughts. I coughed once, fanning my flaming face, as Professor Smith let out a chuckle.

"To be thirteen again." She said soundly. "Let's see what you've got."

Face burning, I raised my wand and paused a moment before I made the hand movement. "You haven't told me the incantation."

"Oh, yes." Professor Smith said. "Forgive me. It's Expecto Patronum. Loudly, clearly, and confidently."

Swallowing against the tightness in my throat, I tried to linger on those exhilarating feelings without dwelling on the thoughts that had produced them. I gave my wand a circular flourish and said, "Expecto Patronum."

There was a bubble of silver gas, but nothing else.

"Try again." Professor Smith encouraged. "It takes practice."

Trying to steady my nerves, I tried again. But the second attempt yielded only a few white sparks. My face filled with shame and embarrassment. Spells had always come so naturally to me, especially Charms. This was a new and unwelcome defeat.

"Don't give up." Professor Smith said, trying to bolster my confidence as I let my wand arm droop. "We have the whole summer to practice."

"What if he comes after me?" I said quickly, alarmed.

She pursed her lips. "He would be unwise to try. Dumbledore has assigned me to guard you, and I have always placed necessary protections around your home. Vampires can't enter a place uninvited. Additionally, Dumbledore himself placed protections upon you that Folsom can't hope to skirt. For now… you are safe."

"For now." I echoed hollowly.

Professor Smith nodded to me after a moment. "Try again."

I glanced at her own wand, still filled with trepidation. "Maybe you could show me first?"

She blinked, surprised. "You want me to show you?"

Feeling stupider by the minute, I nodded glumly.

"Not at all an issue." She said swiftly. "It's been awhile since I've produced one. But let me try."

She waved her own wand and said very clearly, "Expecto Patronum!"

Her voice echoed impressively all around the hall. A huge jet of white, silvery-blue light burst from her wand and wound round and round the room. It was huge, as thick as an oak tree, and as long as the Hogwarts Express. I leapt back in fear, my throat too tight to emit my scream of horror.

The corporeal Patronus circled the air and the Hall ominously, glowing brightly and filling every precipice with its iridescent light. After a minute, it faded into silver, then dark gray, and finally, was gone.

I stared at Professor Smith, pulse beating wildly in my throat. She was watching the spot where the Patronus had gone, and to my surprise, there were tears in her eyes.

"Professor… Professor Smith?" I asked quietly after a long pause of awkward, stony silence. "Are you alright?"

"That's enough training for today." She said faintly, her voice thin and reedy. "Your homework is to keep practicing that Charm. I also want you to please review Animagus and compare them against werewolves."

She sniffled once, and my concern flared inside. I took a step towards her, not sure what to do. "Is there… something I can do?"

She looked away, shaking her head once. "Forgive me, Amber. Sometimes… it's difficult to be a woman, I suppose."

She gave me a watery smile, but it didn't reach her reddening eyes. I followed Professor Smith out of the grand Hall, pausing in the threshold that would take us back into the Muggle realm.

"How are we getting back to the house?" I asked.

"Thestral, if you are alright with that." She replied, sounding distant.

"I am." I said quickly, wanting to get home and allow my teacher privacy to whatever feelings her Patronus had caused. I couldn't tell if it was tears of joy or tears or pain… but from my long summer a year ago with Mum's grief, I had a strong feeling that I had correctly identified her tears as an expression of deep sorrow.

I glanced over my shoulder a final time back into the dim Hall. I wondered if perhaps the shape of her Patronus had upset her, more than anything. After all, how many witches or wizards had a spirit guardian that took the form of the monstrous Basilisk?