My Brilliant Idea

One week later:

"Hey, Gav! Want to play some hockey?"

The voice belonged to my cousin Drew Marciano, one of a pair of twelve-year-old twins. I whispered reassurances to the baby bunny I'd been feeding a piece of lettuce to, Drew's yell had startled the poor thing so bad it had nearly took off. But my whispered, "Hey, it's all right, nothing will hurt you," calmed the little thing enough so it finished the lettuce I'd held out.

It twitched its tiny nose at me. "More?"

I grinned. "No, no more today. You'd better get on back to your burrow, your mom will be looking for you."

"Tomorrow?" it queried, sniffing my fingers hopefully.

"Okay. Tomorrow, I'll have another piece for you," I agreed, trying not to laugh. "But you only come in here if I'm around, little guy. Otherwise Scout'll get you."

The rabbit shuddered at the mention of my dog, who was a hound. "Big dog. Scary. I'll remember. Goodbye, Gavin sir!" It turned to run back through the grass, then it turned about and lisped a thank you before it vanished into the thick green grass.

I rose from the ground, brushing off my jeans as I did so. I'd discovered the baby bunny yesterday as I was weeding the garden (an endless chore, since the blasted weeds always came back!). At first it had been scared out of its skin, but once I'd spoken a few words to it in rabbit-speak, it calmed down and let me touch it and feed it a tiny piece of lettuce. Dad would've been yelling at that, saying I'd just encouraged a rodent to come into our garden for a free handout, but the bunny was too cute to resist. Besides, I could always tell the rabbit to leave if it got too pushy and started nibbling on our produce.

And Scout was enough of a deterrent when it came to scaring away rabbits, squirrels, and garden gnomes from our backyard. I figured the poor thing had wandered in here by mistake that afternoon, because it had been shivering when I'd found it and moaning "Not the Director's garden!" to itself. I'd had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, since it looked like the rabbit mommies had all scared their bunny kids into obedience by threatening them with "the Director's garden." As in "Never ever go into the Director's garden, or else Scout will get you, or the Director himself!" Kind of like in The Tale of Peter Rabbit, when Peter's mother warns him never to go in Mr. MacGregor's garden or else he'll end up in a pie.

Not that Dad would've done anything like that, but a good dose of fear probably saved a lot of little bunnies' lives. Of course, I'd made the little scamp promise to never tell that I was giving him lettuce on the sly, and he'd promised upon the Great Hare (the rabbit version of God, probably) and so I told him he could come back every morning I permitted and get another piece. To cover up my actions, I now weeded the garden every afternoon, a thing that was making Dad wonder at my sudden industriousness, since I'd always bitched over doing that chore before. But he'd never asked me about my change of attitude yet and I hoped he never would.

I quickly walked around the side of the house to the driveway, where my two cousins, Drew and Nick, were waiting for me. They weren't identical twins, but they resembled each other enough so you knew they were brothers. Drew had dark hair and bright blue eyes, while Nick was sandy blond and had brown eyes. Today they were wearing jeans and faded T-shirts that had an Alpha Windstorm logo on them, which was a stylized A with wind swirling about it. The Alphas were a popular US Quidditch team.

"What's up?" asked Nick, eying my somewhat dirt smeared jeans.

"Uncle Sev's got you working like a field hand again, huh?" Drew commented.

"Nah. I was just weeding the vegetable garden," I said offhandedly. The field hand thing was an old joke between us, since neither of our families used house elves to do chores. That was mainly the responsibility of us apprentices. "You taking Potions and Defense with him yet?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, and holy God, what's with all the homework, Gav? I mean, it's not like we're in college or something."

I shrugged. "Don't ask me, I'm not the professor here, Nick. You got a problem, complain to Dad, not me."

"Oh, right," Drew snorted. "Like that'll ever work. Hey Uncle Sev, can you give us less homework next time? And he'll just give us one of those looks and say the more homework, the better the student or something like that. And then give us twice the work cause we were stupid enough to complain about it."

"And it only took him, like three times before he learned that, Gavin," teased Nick.

"Shut up, Nick!" Drew ordered, glaring at his twin. "Don't make me tell Gav how long it took you to learn to cast a simple Shield charm, Mr. Brilliant."

Now it was Nick's turn to scowl at his brother. "Whatever. How did it go with the dragons, Gav?" he asked, abruptly switching the subject. "Was it like the most awesome thing ever?"

"Yeah, it was," I said honestly, not missing the undisguised envy in my cousin's tone. Not that I blamed him. To study with a bronze dragon was something most American wizards would give their left arms for. I told them about Spark and Flash and how Flash had taught me a new way to focus my magic. The twins listened, spellbound, to my account.

"God, but you are so lucky!" said Nick. "Makes me almost wish I was a firecaller, if that's how you can get to study with dragons."

I shook my head slowly. "You wouldn't say that, Nick, if you know what it was really like having a talent like mine. It isn't so cool when you're losing your temper every other minute over stupid things and swearing at your dad because you're too mad to think straight."

Drew's mouth fell open. "You did what?"

"You swore at Uncle Sev?" Nick repeated, his eyes bugging out. "And you're still breathing? Must not have been too bad then."

I chuckled. "Wrong." I then proceeded to tell them exactly what I'd said.

"Merlin's freakin' staff, Gav!" exclaimed Nick. "You actually said that to his face?"

"Yeah, it was stupid, and believe me I paid for it," I said ruefully.

"What'd he do to you?" Drew asked. "Did he like, wallop your ass, or what? 'Cause our dad would've, if either of us ever said that to him."

"That and he grounded me, made me write lines, and made me eat soap too," I reported.

Both twins winced in sympathy. "Ouch. Did you get it with a ruler?" Nick wanted to know.

I gaped at him. "Hell, no! Why? You mean your dad . . . ?"

"Only for doing something really bad, like hexing Marietta or using the F-word to his face," Nick explained. "And then it's seven with the ruler and that's all."

I shook my head, for I never pictured my Uncle Johnny as the type to discipline that way. "Dad didn't use anything except his hand, and that was bad enough," I said, thanking God I didn't live with my uncle. I'd had enough of belts and switches to last me a lifetime. "When did you ever hex Marietta, Nick?"

"Three years ago. She wanted to play hockey with us, and I told her no, so she said she was telling on me, the way she always does, the brat, and I got mad and cast a Croaking Hex on her. That's the one that makes you croak like a frog, you know, and it only lasts like ten minutes, but she ran into the house and next thing I knew here comes my dad, mad as blazes, wanting to know what I thought I was doing, hexing a little kid like that? Then he made me remove the spell, tell her I was sorry and all that, and then he walloped my ass. One day I'm breaking that damn ruler."

Drew snickered. "He always says that after Dad punishes him."

"So do you," his twin pointed out.

"True. And we will, someday, when we're too old to spank." Drew predicted. "Okay, let's play hockey, because this is gonna be the last chance we've got since we're going on vacation next week with Mom to Massachusetts." He quickly cast an Excelsior shield charm over himself and his twin.

We played spelled hockey, which was a game invented by Mark, another of our cousins, who was afraid of flying but loved hockey. Mark was all grown-up now, but he sometimes still came by and played games with us just for fun. It was called that because the puck was spelled to blink in and out, making it ten times as hard to hit than normal.

Nick agreed to be goalie, so me and Drew faced off for the first game. We played until six goals then switched. The Excelsior charms were necessary because we didn't want to get hurt with the puck and that way we could check each other good and hard.

After I scored three goals and Drew two, we settled down to play in earnest. I was quicker than Drew on my skates, though not as fast as Mark used to be (and still is, if I'm being honest), and I kept an eagle eye out for the puck.

Blink!

Then it reappeared almost all the way down the driveway, making me and Drew race for it. I got there before he did and shot it back up towards the goal. It slid right at Nick, but he was ready and snagged it in his goalie mitt. Damn!

Once he'd picked it up, he tossed it back into the center of the driveway and we faced off again.

But eventually I managed to score the final goal and I won, 6-4.

Drew cuffed me gently about the head afterwards. "Good game, kid. I need to practice more."

"My thoughts exactly," smirked Nick, and got a punch in the arm for that comment.

I was used to their constant bickering and just ignored it. They were like two mischievous puppies, always ready for a scuffle. "Want to get a soda?" I asked. "I'm dying of thirst."

"Yeah," agreed Nick, and promptly summoned three cans of Coke from my refrigerator.

We leaned on our sticks against the garage, sipping our drinks and getting our breath back, though I wasn't all that winded. "So, what are you going to do in Massachusetts?"

Nick shrugged, twirling his stick idly. "Dunno. Probably see some museums and stuff, Mom always does that kind of thing. We're gonna go to Martha's Vineyard, I think."

"Dad's not going, though. He's got work," said Drew. "Some big case, involving some bust of a big dealer in midnight mushroom powder and stuff like that." My Uncle Johnny worked for the Hunter Narcotic Division as an undercover spook, as they say in the business, he was one of the best in his field, according to my father.

"Midnight mushroom powder, that's nasty stuff," I said, recalling how a friend of mine had nearly died from it six months ago.

"One of the worst drugs there is," Nick said importantly, as if he knew all there was to know about it. "Dad says it can really do a number on your magic, if you inhale enough of it." Midnight mushroom inhibited a wizard's magic, if he or she was foolish enough to eat or smoke it. Even breathing the fumes in was dangerous and prolonged use of it could stunt your magical powers for good and all. It was a hallucinogen though, and addicting as hell, which was why users of it kept doing it.

"Arista says so too," I added, recalling a conversation I'd had with her not long after the Shifter case had been wrapped up. "She's treated more than a couple of cases in the clinic, and they're among the worst addictions."

"But she can heal them, right?" asked Drew. He looked at Arista as some sort of Healing goddess, because she was so amazingly powerful.

"Sometimes. Other times, they've damaged the core of their magic so badly she can't repair it all, and they can only cast small spells and sense magical presences, but the rest of it is lost."

"Man, that would suck!" Nick muttered.

I nodded. "Well, I hope your dad nails those crummy dealers good. They're scum of the earth, like Ferrous." I spat. I scratched a line in the asphalt with my stick, thinking. "Hey, I think Martha's Vineyard is pretty close to Salem, you know, where they had all the witch hunts and stuff. Maybe you could drop by there and take a look at it."

The twins looked thoughtful. "Mom says no self-respecting magician or wizard would stay in Salem. There's too many ghosts or whatever there," Nick mused. "Still, I've always wanted to see it. Just to look, know what I mean?"

Drew and I nodded. "I heard that twenty-four people, including old women and children and some eighty-year old man were tried and killed for being witches before the governor of Massachusetts finally put a stop to it," I told them, recalling my history class last semester. We'd done a whole unit on Salem and the impact the trials had on society and what it showed about how rumor and superstition could influence even educated people.

"People were dumb back then," Drew said derisively. "They believed the devil could possess people at the drop of a hat and they thought magic was evil and anybody that acted odd was a witch and devil worshipper."

"Can you blame them? That's what they were taught, what their leaders, who were mostly preachers and stuff, believed. They were ignorant, not stupid." I said.

"What's the difference?" Nick asked.

"Stupid means you can't comprehend another point of view, no matter how many times somebody tells you something," I explained. "But ignorance isn't stupidity, it's a lack of knowledge. An ignorant person only knows a little bit about something, but he thinks he knows everything, even though that's not so. An ignorant person can be taught better, made to see another person's viewpoint. A stupid person's hopeless. At least that's how my teacher explained it."

"But look how many people died because of that." Drew argued. "I mean, over half of those people had no magic at all, they were just Muggles, and they died for something they didn't even do."

"I know. That's why we ought to remember it, so we don't let that kind of thing happen again."

"D'you think it could happen again?" Nick cried.

"It might, if enough people in power ever got the idea that a certain group of people were dangerous. Ferrous used to believe the same kind of thing, and he grew up in the twentieth century, not the 1600's."

"Yeah but Ferrous, he was like, screwed up in the head." Drew snorted.

"Sure he was, but there're more like him out there. Don't think he was the only one."

"They all need to be put away," Nick stated angrily.

"That'd be nice." But it'll never happen, I added silently to myself. Because people like Ferrous were like rats, they faded away when danger threatened, only to come out again when darkness fell. "Want to play another game?"

"Yeah. You're goalie this time though, Gavin," Drew declared.

"Okay," I said and handed my stick over to Nick.

Three games later we were ready to call it quits, since all of us were starving.

"C'mon, let's go and hit Uncle Sev up for some dinner or something," Nick suggested, knowing full well Dad would never refuse to feed us.

So we all trooped inside after shedding our skates and sticks in the garage and putting away the net. Dad was, as I'd figured, already preparing supper. He looked up as we entered. "Hello, boys. I assume you're starving, you usually are after playing hockey."

"What are you cooking, Uncle Sev?" Nick asked, giving his uncle one of those puppy-dog stares that never failed to get results.

"Tonight I'm making cheesesteaks, rosemary potatoes, and salad," answered Dad, rinsing the salad off in a colander in the sink.

"Oh, man! Can we stay for dinner?" Drew asked, also throwing him a pleading irresistible look.

"Of course. Just tell your mother first. Then I want all of you to go and wash up, you're filthy." He eyed me resignedly. "Gavin, you can change your clothes too while you're at it, then come back here and set the table."

"Yes, sir," I responded, echoed a moment later by the twins.

Twenty minutes later we were all seated at the kitchen table, eating cheesesteaks on crispy rolls dripping with ketchup, fries, and salad. I picked at my salad, since I really don't care for lettuce, but Dad gave me one of his looks, and I started to eat it. Dad insists I eat some kind of green vegetable at least three times a week, otherwise he'll go back to making me a Nutrient Potion to drink so I get enough vitamins. That potion is so disgusting, I'd sooner eat lettuce, and so I do. With Dad's special dressing, it's not bad at all.

It was while I was eating and the twins were telling Severus about their upcoming vacation in Massachusetts that I got a brilliant idea. "Um, Dad? Why don't we take a vacation too?" I said all at once, nearly choking myself on a piece of bread.

"Gavin, don't talk with your mouth full," my father scolded, coming over to give me a sharp tap on the back. "Drink some water." I did, coughing. He rubbed my back until I'd stopped. "All right now?"

"Yeah," I managed at last, wiping my face with a napkin. Guess there really is a reason why parents tell you that, I thought ruefully.

Dad returned to his seat across from me. "Now, repeat what you just said, I didn't catch a word of it."

"I said, why don't we go on vacation too, Dad? I mean, you hardly, make that never take time off from your job, so I thought maybe we could, um, go to Massachusetts with Nick, Drew, and Aunt Teri. I think we could both use a vacation." Then I used the same exact stare my cousins had on him.

"Oh, you do, huh?" was all he said for a moment. He sipped at his glass of iced tea, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

I crossed my fingers hopefully. There was a lot of truth in what I said. Dad was a workaholic, he hardly ever rested, even on the weekends he took some cases home with him. I wondered if he even knew the meaning of the words "time off". Maybe things would've been different if Amelia had been alive, but right now . . .

"Very well, I think a small vacation will do us both good," he agreed, to my everlasting shock. "How long were you boys planning on staying in Massachusetts?"

"Uh, I think a week or so," Drew answered, smiling. I knew he was glad I was coming, since I could act as a buffer between him and his twin. They were typical brothers, always arguing over everything, and sometimes they got on each other's nerves something fierce.

"Good. That will give us plenty of time to see some historical monuments and things," Dad declared. We all groaned at that.

Then, pleased with how well my first question had worked, I boldly asked, "Can we go and visit Salem, Dad? Please?"

"Salem? The site of all those witch burnings?" he repeated, not looking too thrilled.

"They hung them, Dad, not burned them." I corrected swiftly. "I studied a bit about it in school and I'd really like to go there and see it for myself. It'll be really educational," I added, playing my trump card. Educational was music to my professor father's ears.

Slowly he nodded. "Yes, it very well may be. I've been meaning to go up there anyway, there's been some odd activity up there lately."

All three of us perked up at that statement. "Like what?" Drew asked.

"Disturbing rumors mostly, about someone reviving the witch hunts," Dad replied tightly.

"Reviving the witch hunts?" I repeated softly. "But that's-that's insane! Nobody believes in that kind of thing anymore."

"So I thought too, but there have been reports of a fringe group sniffing around that area by some of my operatives. Some families have been the target of that hatred, they've gotten signs and nasty messages scrawled over their houses and cars, poppets hung on their mailboxes and in their yards. Nothing really threatening yet . . .but the implication is there."

"What the heck's a poppet?" wondered Nick.

"It's a stuffed ragdoll, or something that looks like a doll." This was something I knew a bit about, thanks to Mr. Andrews's unit. "Witches were supposed to use them to ill-wish somebody or curse them. Like a voodoo doll."

"It could also be taken as a warning," Dad said. "A 'back off or you'll be next' sort of thing. Though the original meaning of a poppet was nothing more than a doll for a little child to play with. The witch hunters though perverted that innocent meaning into something much more sinister." His lip twisted into a sneer. "Typical. What people don't understand, they fear. And in their fear they hate and then they destroy."

"Those families, are they true wizarding ones, Uncle Sev?" queried Drew.

"Some of them are, yes. But some aren't. One of the targets is nothing more than an old woman with ten cats who lives alone since her husband died."

"The crazy cat lady," Nick giggled. Severus glared at him and he stopped.

"There, you see. It's labels like that which can do great harm in the wrong hands," Dad lectured. "I'm sure that woman is not crazy, simply because she chooses to live alone with only her cats for company, but stereotypes like that persist."

"People believe what they want to believe," I quoted softly.

"Yes, and that's exactly the problem," my father sighed. "Back in the 1690's it was very easy to believe that women who were, shall we say, hermits with a sassy attitude or who didn't quite conform to the everyday standards, or didn't look like everyone else, were somehow tainted and evil. And it didn't help that some of those girls who originally did the accusations were spoiled bored brats looking for something better to do than their embroidery and cooking. If their fathers had permitted them to read or have some kind of an education, they might not have done what they did."

"My teacher says that he thinks they meant it as a kind of prank at first, but then it got really out of hand," I volunteered.

"I've no doubt that's exactly what happened. Rumors can be deadly in the wrong hands." Dad said dryly.

"I don't know much about the Salem witch trials," Nick admitted. "I used to fall asleep in my history class."

Drew and I sniggered at that. But Dad merely rolled his eyes, he'd expected no less. "Good, then you can use this trip as an opportunity to brush up on your colonial history, Nicholas. I would hope you find it more interesting this time around."

"Oh I will, sir." Nick said quickly. "Just don't make me write an essay on it, please!"

Dad smirked. "I wasn't going to, but now that you mention it-"

"NO!" all three of us shouted, horrified. "Please!"

"Dad, it's supposed to be a vacation," I reminded him. "No homework, remember?"

"I'll learn all about it, Uncle Sev, just don't make me write it down," Nick pleaded, for he really hated essays. "I swear to God."

Dad bit his lip and glanced away.

It was then I realized he was trying very hard not to start cracking up, the miserable sneak!

But after a few tense moments, he turned back and said silkily, "Very well, no essays. But I expect you to all learn something useful on this vacation, so history doesn't repeat itself."

"We will, sir," promised Drew.

"Thank you God," Nick murmured into his sandwich.

I threw my parent a rather reproving glare, letting him know I hadn't been fooled for a minute about his threat. Well, mostly. "Do these witch hunting people have a name or something, Dad?"

He nodded. "Yes. They've given themselves the name The Brotherhood of the Shining Path. The name rings a bell with me, but I don't recall yet why. I'll have to do some research on them, I think they've been connected to this sort of thing before." Then his eyes narrowed and he said sternly, "This does not mean you are going to be involved in my investigation, Gavin Snape. I plan to use this vacation to do some information gathering, nothing more. And you, young man, are to keep your nose out of it."

"But Dad, it's not that dangerous . . ."

"Gavin!" he snapped. "It's Hunter business, and you know the rules."

I sighed. I surely did. It meant that minors were strictly forbidden to get involved, this included Director's sons, even ones who were firecallers. Perhaps especially those. I knew it was for my own protection, but still, I hated it when Dad took that attitude with me, like I was a little baby that couldn't defend myself. I was a full-fledged firecaller now, since I'd graduated from Fireflash's schooling. Still, I knew better than to argue with my father when his mind was made up.

One of Severus Snape's rules was that his work stayed separate from his private life, it was a means of protecting his family. Usually I didn't mind all that much, but there were times, like now, that I wished he'd trust me with a little information. But then I guess old habits are hard to break, and he wasn't used to relying on anyone except himself. Perhaps someday he'd see me as an assistant and not just his child. Right. Like when I was seventeen maybe.

I resumed eating, figuring it was wiser to do that than continue discussing this current case with him. I was less apt to get in trouble that way. At least I had managed to wriggle a vacation out of this, I silently congratulated myself on my brilliant idea.

Once we'd finished eating and cleaned up, I asked, "What's for dessert?"

"Ice cream sundaes, if you want." Dad waved a hand at the freezer.

If we want? Was he kidding? The twins made a beeline for the freezer, where there were three different kinds of ice cream, plus all the toppings. I generously allowed my guests first choice of ice cream and toppings. Then I fixed Dad his usual, chocolate with caramel sauce and whipped cream with walnuts on top, levitated it over to him, and started to make myself one.

I slyly snuck a lick of chocolate ice cream off the spoon before scooping some into a cone.

"Gavin! Do not lick the spoon and then put it back in the ice cream, young man!"

Oops. Caught again! "I, uh, I wasn't . . ."

"Don't bother lying," growled Dad, not even bothering to look up. "Now quit it, it's disgusting. I don't want your germs on my ice cream."

"Why? I'm not contagious," I hissed. I swear, that man has eyes in the back of his head! Not to mention ears like a rabbit.

"What was that? Did I hear you asking to go to bed without dessert, Mr. Snape?"

"No, sir," I say quickly, and wash off the spoon. I ought to know better than to try something like that with him right there, but sometimes I just can't help myself. One of the trials of living with a smart-aleck former street brat.

Hope you all liked this one! I wrote it before I became sick. Next chapter will have Gavin, the twins, Sev, and Teri on vacation in Massachusetts! It'll be a blast . . .and a headache, LOL!