Chapter 16: The Emerald Tablet
" 'Tis true without error, aye 'tis most certain and true
That which is below it to that which is above
And that which is above is to that which is below
And through this works the Miracle of the One Thing."
-Excerpt from the Emerald Tablet-
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True to his word, Harry didn't try looking for the Mirror of Erised again. In fact, aside from one attempt to ask Allie what she had seen in it that had gone nowhere, he avoided thinking about it at all. The invisibility cloak lay neatly folded in the bottom of his trunk and he fully intended to leave it there until the day that the students who had gone home returned and he could take it out to show his friends.
The day before the turning of the new year Professor Flitwick sent the Fat Friar to bring Harry to an unused office. Allie, who had been in the library with him when the ghost floated up through the table, came along as far as the door.
"You aren't coming in?" Harry asked.
"I'm one of the Principals to the duel, it wouldn't be proper," Allie said. "The seconds arrange the particulars. Setting this meeting up when Blaise couldn't be here is a deliberate insult on their part. Rightly speaking, Draco shouldn't be present either, but I doubt he's thick enough to let Greg decide things for him. Just remember, Harry, you aren't obligated to agree to anything they propose. Especially since Blaise isn't present. Just remember, it doesn't hurt to listen."
Malfoy was already in the room when he walked in, as was a man Harry didn't know but whose long platinum-blond hair could only make him another Malfoy. Presumably he was Malfoy's oft-mentioned father.
"At last," the senior Malfoy said. "Perhaps now we can finally get to business."
Harry had started to reach for one of the empty chairs, but now he paused. Neither of these two was supposed to be here, and Flitwick had agreed to make sure all the rules were followed. He might not be sure of what the rules all were, but Flitwick almost certainly did…
"Excuse me," he said, "who are you?"
"I am Lucius Malfoy," the man said bitingly. "Draco's father."
"Oh, yes, he may have mentioned you," Harry said, trying his best to sound indifferent. He turned to Flitwick. "I really most protest. This man is not a Principal, nor is he a Second of one the Principals involved. Further, this meeting as deliberately called when it was full well known that one of my Principal's Seconds would be unable to attend."
"I can name my father as my Second," Malfoy cut in. "I'm allowed three."
"Mr. Malfoy, you must wait your turn," Flitwick said sternly.
"My further questions can wait," Harry offered.
Flitwick nodded once and turned to Malfoy. "You had a chance to name your Seconds when you and Ms. Blackthorn asked me to serve as Master. I assure you, I will do so fully and impartially, and I will see to it that all the proper forms are observed, am I understood?"
"Perfectly, sir," Harry said, playing up the role a little.
"Yes," Draco—Harry forced himself to call the boy 'Draco' lest he get confused—grated.
"Excellent," Flitwick said. "You were made aware of Ms. Blackthorn's Seconds, as well as that one would not be present during the holiday, Mr. Malfoy. That you deliberately requested this meeting knowing that one of her Seconds would be unable to attend reflects poorly upon you, sir.
"Furthermore, while you are correct in that you are allowed three, properly you are allowed up to three. At the time you requested my services you named only Mr. Gregory Goyle whom, I note, is not present. Any formal change must be made with all named parties present. This is not the case."
"I believe a waver can be granted if both Principals agree," the senior Malfoy said.
"Indeed that is the case," Flitwick said. "Mr. Potter, will you speak for Ms. Blackthorn in this?"
Harry considered saying 'no'. He certainly didn't want to agree without talking to Allie, and unlike himself he was sure that Mr. Malfoy knew all of the rules, and how to get around them. "I will inform her of the request," Harry said finally, "but Ms. Blackthorn has been careful to observe the proper forms. If Mr. Malfoy wants his father to act for him then she is likely going to insist that he go about doing so properly."
The elder Malfoy's face didn't move, but Harry could feel the fury pour off of him, and Draco's flushed leaving his face an unattractive waxy-looking sort of pale.
"However," Harry said after a moment, "If Mr. Malfoy wishes for me to pass along a message to my Principal, I have no objection."
"Very well, Mister Malfoy," Flitwick said once Harry had claimed his seat in one of the large wing-back chairs. The other left noticeably empty.
"It has been made known to me that what my son said prior to Ms. Blackthorn's attempt to slay him by flooding the Slytherin Common Room could have been interpreted as a grievous insult, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said silkily. "Therefore it occurred to me that it would be prudent to clear that matter so that your Principal might forgive his ill-advised offered challenge."
"Of course," Harry said.
"In that case I propose an alliance between our Houses."
"An alliance?" Harry asked, suddenly confused.
"A kind that will obviously show that no insult was intended and that Ms. Blackthorn has no interest in my son's death."
Harry didn't know how to respond to that so he held his tongue.
"Dynastic."
Harry managed not to say anything, but he was sure from the way Malfoy's eyes glittered at him that he had given something away.
"Ms. Blackthorn is an exceptional witch, and as the party perceived by many to be insulted, Draco would be honor-bound to do all in his power to set it right."
"You are—" Harry blurted, and quickly remembered where he was, "—er, suggesting that Draco marry Allie?"
"Precisely, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said, and he didn't have to sneer for Harry to hear it.
What kind of twisted double-thinking was that? An insult that was supposedly 'proved' to not exist by the insulter marrying the insulted? Did the Purebloods really solve things by marrying each other as soon as they entered Hogwarts?
"I'll pass the offer along," Harry said.
"Inform her that it would be in her best interest," Malfoy said.
"And if she refuses?" Harry asked.
"You are impertinent."
"I am Allie's Second," Harry said stiffly. "You are not Draco's, sir."
"Very well, inform her, Mr. Potter. But know this; should she refuse my very generous offer my son will have the best Champion I can find for him."
"Allie's, excuse me, Ms. Blackthorn's honor is her own, Mr. Malfoy," Harry replied. "She has made it clear that she has no need for anyone else to settle her affairs for her."
Harry quickly stood, but didn't try to mimic the short, ironic bow the elder Malfoy offered before he stormed from the room followed by Draco.
"That could have gone better," Harry said.
"On the contrary, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said. "You handled that quite well. I must say that I'm impressed."
The door opened and both turned to see Allie slip inside.
"It went well, I take it?" she asked.
"You watched?" Flitwick said, sounding rather upset.
"Only the hall, it would have been hard to miss two generations of Malfoy's stomping through the halls," Allie said. "What happened?"
Harry explained about Malfoy trying to get his father to be his second and how he'd refused, then passed along the elder Malfoy's marriage proposal. "You wouldn't really agree, would you?" he asked.
"No, but I'm going to let him withdraw the offer rather than outright objecting it," Allie said.
"May I ask how you intend to do that, Ms. Blackthorn?" Flitwick asked. "Lucius Malfoy is hardly his son."
"Oh that's easy," Allie said, waving a hand as though to brush the issue away. "I'll simply insist his son speak his vows first."
Harry turned to Allie. "Why does it matter what order wedding oaths are spoken in?"
Flitwick spoke, startling Harry. "When a witch weds, Mr. Potter, she leaves her family and joins the groom's. It is an ancient variation of a liegeman swearing fealty to his lord."
"Exactly," Allie said. "The Thorne family is much older than the Malfoys, so Lucius could hardly object to using our traditions without losing support among the traditional families, but at the same time the Thorne's are matrilineal so—"
"So Malfoy would be joining your family so he'd have to go first," Harry said.
She nodded. "The Thornes would absorb the Malfoys instead of the other way around. Lucius is the Head of the Malfoys, not a mere cadet branch. If he had agreed I'd turn his family into a footnote in history so fast he'd forget his own name. He never would go for it."
"You expected him to try getting you two married?"
"This is hardly the kind of conversation you should be having in front of me, Ms. Blackthorn," Flitwick noted.
She looked at him. "That's okay, Harry and I need to speak with Professor Flitwick for a while."
"We do?" Harry asked.
"Meaning no disrespect, Professor," Allie said lightly, "but Professor Snape is Malfoy's Godfather. Professor McGonagall is too…righteous, and Professor Sprout is…unsuitable. I am requesting Council and Guidance, and prepared to formally invoke it if you insist. I am, of course, fully aware of the…awkward position this would place you in."
"Not nearly so awkward," Flitwick said lightly. "It is, after all, any Professor's job to assist his students, whether with their class subject or to grow in life."
"Excellent." Allie sank into one of the chairs and after looking once at Flitwick Harry did the same.
"As I told Justin at the beginning of the year, for some pureblood families it just means that they've had magical parents going back a few generations or more," Allie said pensively. "Others are really radical about it."
"They define themselves by it, you said," Harry said.
"To them it represents power."
"It is the mistaken belief that greater magical power can be bred into the next generation by mating within a sharply defined blood-pool," Flitwick said. "To a certain extent this is true, but much of the most radical fringe has reached the point where those blood-lines are starting to fail and most of the lesser families have reached a point of diminishing returns."
"But why?" Harry asked. "What are they trying to reach? I mean, not everyone can be a wizard like the Headmaster, but we're pretty powerful compared to where we were a thousand years ago, right? I mean, we have all sorts of spells that they didn't back then."
"And that, Mr. Potter, is the Great Debate," Flitwick said. "We have more spells, yes, but for a number of reasons it has become much easier to create a new spell than it was in the past. The situation is similar to muggle literature. There are a great many more new books being printed each year than there were three hundred years ago or more. So while we can do more, we aren't necessarily any more powerful than a wizard born five centuries ago."
"And then there are the Wyrdings," Allie said.
"Wyrdings?"
"You'll find out about them if you take N.E.W.T.-level history," Flitwick said. "The short version is that in order to keep ourselves hidden from the muggles it became necessary to lock away the Wildest and most powerful of magic. Some Talents became vanishingly rare, others disappeared entirely. Species of magical animals were wiped out entirely, other survived, but were mere shadows of their former glory. Artifacts of Ancient Magicks were rendered powerless. Words of Power lost their potency.
"Families were striped of Talents that had followed their blood-lines for centuries or more. Wizard and witch alike found their powers wane and feeble, or lost entirely. It is to these old magics that the Pureblood beliefs aspire."
"There are still a few pockets of Wild magic," Allie said. "Not everyone lost everything. The Witch of Donan Wood…"
"Yes, and the Witch of the Westmoreland, although that one is a special case," Flitwick said. "And the Thornes, of course, which brought this about."
"Oh we aren't nearly so powerful as the rumors suggest," Allie demurred. "But you're right, and Lucius would never have passed up a chance to absorb the Thornes. I did expect something more subtle, though. That was pretty blatant."
"Aren't you afraid of what he said, about getting a champion?" Harry asked.
"Not really," Allie said.
"A Champion is bound by oaths, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said. "He literally holds his Principal's honor and magic during the duel.
"If Draco was to go along and the champion killed me, well, legally everything would be all right," Allie said. "The problem is that this isn't about honor anymore. This is about perception, and as far as everyone else is concerned Draco bringing in a champion would be like Professor Snape fighting you in a duel."
"Professors aren't allowed to challenge students," Flitwick said. "But," he continued at Allie's look, "the comparison is well enough."
"Unfair, one-sided, and in very poor taste," Allie went on. "Worse, everyone would know Draco's dad hired the champion, so in addition to the rest people would never let him forget that he needed his father to settle his fights for him. That sort of thing, when it comes to duels, is probably the second-worst thing that could happen to him after being thought of as hiring a paid duelist."
Harry frowned. "Paid duelist? How is that any different?"
"A champion acts for a Principal who is incapable of acting for himself, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said seriously, "which is why Mr. Malfoy will find it difficult to justify having one. A paid duelest is hired to foment a duel, either challenging a person outright or provoking that person to offer the challenge, either insult another person so that person calls for a duel, and then cripple or kill that person."
"Basically it's murder for hire using a duel as cover."
"Will Malfoy figure that out?" Harry paused long enough for Allie to nod at him to go on. "What it is people will think of him, I mean."
"Don't ever think Malfoy is stupid. Arrogant, conceited, whiny, something of a wimp, all true; but not stupid. He'll figure out what I just described and he'll flatly disallow a champion to stand in for him."
"That's why you told me it doesn't hurt to listen," Harry said as he put the pieces together. "You thought that he would get around to threatening to hire a champion and you wanted to get Malfoy thinking about how other people would see him if he did."
"That's very good, Harry," Allie said, "and you're right. It is exactly what I hoped to get out of the meeting once it happened and I noticed that Greg wasn't there."
"Do you really intend to kill him?" Harry asked.
"And now we're getting to the part I wanted to talk to Professor Flitwick about," Allie said.
"You could simply apologize," Flitwick said.
"I could apologize for striking him, but that won't satisfy Malfoy or his father and I refuse to apologize for something I didn't do," Allie said flatly. "The Mistress of Thornes suggested the same course of action so that she could declare a blood-feud between our Houses. Until the matter between me and Draco Malfoy has been concluded however, she can't do that. She's wanted an excuse to destroy the Malfoys for years and I will be damned before I give her one!"
She let out an angry breath. "Unfortunately, Malfoy called me out in a forum in which I could not decently refuse."
Flitwick started to say something, but then he paused. After a moment he bluntly asked, "Have your Seconds asked Mr. Malfoy for an apology?"
"Blaise has been seeing to that," Allie said.
"Wait a moment," Harry said. "You are trying to get out of the duel?"
Allie and Flitwick both winced.
"That isn't the politest way of—"
"Yes," Allie said bluntly. After a moment she shrugged, "Professor Flitwick is right, of course. It's hardly appropriate behavior, but at least it's honest. There are a whole slew of reasons why killing Malfoy would be a bad idea; pureblood politics, the fact that we're both in school, personal reasons…"
"Okay," Harry said. "So what does Zabini have to say? Will Malfoy go for it?"
Allie shook her head. "If Draco's father had wanted him out of the duel he could have said that Draco didn't have the right to issue the challenge. Normally heirs do, but since he's underage his father, as Head of House, could have revoked it after the fact. Personally I think Malfoy senior received a letter from my grandmother as well, and he'd like to see her get involved personally even less than I would."
"Do you think Mr. Malfoy would apologize if given the chance?" Flitwick asked.
"Probably," Allie said.
"If he's getting pressure from his father…" Harry said, "And no offense, Allie, but we've all seen you in transfiguration and charms, or heard about it after the fact. If no one was standing ready to undo one of your mistakes they could be pretty dangerous."
"None taken," Allie said. "It's true enough. So I suppose the question is where do I go from here?"
Harry had no idea. Looking at the diminutive charms professor it didn't look like Flitwick did either.
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Nor did Blaise Zabini when he returned with the rest of the students who had gone home for the hols.
No sooner had the door close on the small room that Professor Flitwick said that they could use than the Slytherin boy threw himself into an overstuffed chair and said; "Merlin, Blackthorn, you really like to make your life complicated, don't you? I mean, you do know it's against all sorts of protocol to have a meeting with the other Party without your Seconds, don't you?"
Allie held up a hand before Harry could say anything so he settled for crossing his arms. He was uncomfortably aware that the other boy probably knew a heck of a lot more about this than he did. And to complicate things, Zabini didn't seem to care for him much.
"I'm aware of it," she said. "And I didn't actually go into the meeting. Harry handled it on his own, and did quite well."
"You did?" Zabini asked, giving Harry a suddenly appraising look.
"Allie and Professor Flitwick both think so," Harry said. "I didn't agree to anything, just heard them out and promised to inform Allie of it."
"Marriage proposal?" Blaise asked.
"Yes, and already withdrawn too," Allie said. "Lucius Malfoy threatened to get his son a champion, but I think Draco's smart enough to realize what they could mean for his future."
"Um…probably," Blaise agreed.
"Any chance that Malfoy is going to apologize?" Harry asked.
"Draco isn't going to admit he insulted me on his own," Allie said, shaking her head. "I needed his father involved. If we hadn't opened our mouths in the Entrance Hall we might have been able to hush up what he said in the background of the school flooding, but we didn't."
"He didn't even know what he said," Blaise said. "Even I didn't fully understand all the particulars until I asked Mother."
"It doesn't matter," Allie said. "It's in the open. We need Draco to apologize for it, or we need a duel. At this point those are our options if we don't want the Mistress of Thornes involved."
"If she even can get involved," Blaise said. "Mother said that she hasn't left her castle since that thing with Grindelwald and those muggles."
"She hasn't, and if you think she needs to you are a fool," Allie said simply.
"She could do that? While we're inside Hogwarts?" Blaise asked.
"I have no desire to find out," Allie said. "In any case, we cannot stay here forever, and my grandmother is just the sort of person to make a Blood Feud out of it. We all know Draco was just spouting off something he'd heard his father say. Grandmother doesn't care. She's taken it as a personal affront to the entire Thorne family."
"She already knows?" Zabini asked.
"Oh yes," Allie said. "We've been in touch by post. I think I've received more letters from her in the past ten days than I have in the entire rest of my life."
"Just what is a blood feud?" Harry asked. "You mentioned that earlier, Allie."
"She means that the Mistress of Thornes will kill off a Malfoy, one of the Malfoys will try to return the favor against one of Blackthorn's blood-kin, and the cycle continues until one family or the other—or both—is wiped out," Zabini said. "My mother's…second husband, I think, was in one of those."
"How did it go?" Harry asked.
"There's a reason why my mother married her third husband," Blaise replied.
"Oh a simple blood feud would be positively restrained for her. She'd kill anyone within, oh, seven degrees of decent of Malfoy. Say, fifth cousins as an outer boundry. And she'd include marriage as a degree so she'd kill off a bunch of his mother's maiden family and everyone they are married to."
"That's a small chunk of the total population of magical England!"
"So?"
"Okay, Blackthorn. You might as well tell us what Malfoy wanted."
"Well, first he offered a marriage alliance."
"Cute," Zabini said. "Sounds sort of like my mother and her fourth husband. It certainly would wipe away the insult. You rejected it?"
"Didn't have to," Harry said, feeling rather good to have something to tell the other boy for once. "Remember who the Thornes are? She I just made Malfoy saying the wedding vows first part of her conditions of accepting."
."Oh," Zabini said, then, "Oh!" He nodded slowly, "Okay. That was clever. Did he offer anything else?"
"Just the bit about finding Malfoy a champion," Harry said.
"As I said, I think I've pretty much convinced Draco not to accept."
"Hiding behind his father and insinuations of duelist for hire?" Zabini asked.
"Only the former," Allie said with a frown. "You really have been talking to your mother."
"Is that a bad thing?" Harry asked, and quickly wished he hadn't because both Slytherins turn and looked at him.
After a moment Zabini shrugged. "Not really, but she's been in a couple of formal duels so she really understands how they work. Flitwick was a tournament duelist which isn't the same thing."
"She's also well-known for the amazing number of husbands she's had die on her under mysterious circumstances," Allie added.
"My mother never did anything wrong," Zabini protested.
"Allie didn't say she did," Harry noted softly.
They stared at each other for a bit, then Zabini laughed.
"You're not so bad for a 'puff, Potter," the other boy said. "Most of them don't know when to keep their mouths shut and wait for the right time to strike, but you don't have that problem, do you? You've been waiting for that shot for a while now."
Harry gave Zabini the slight, satisfied smirk that he'd been practicing in front of a mirror for a while now and sat back in his chair.
"Blackthorn is right, my mother is up to eight husbands, all of them dead," Zabini said.
"I'm sorry," Harry said awkwardly into the pause that followed.
It was Zabini's turn to look at him quizzically.
"About your father, I mean," Harry said defensively.
"My father's just fine," Zabini said with careless shrug. "Lives in Italy, they never married so he's right as rain, see?"
"Blaise thinks his mother is something of a joke," Allie said. "Though it isn't one he lets people in on."
"Wouldn't be funny if they knew," Zabini said. "I still remember this one time. It was four or five years ago and my mother had taken me to Diagon Alley. We had stopped in an apothecary and I was looking at unicorn horns when this dumpy witch with red hair comes bundling up to me and asks how I can possibly enjoy living with that serial husband-murderer, all the while not realizing that my mother was in the next aisle over looking at bat wool. The look on her face when she realized that mother had heard every word was so incredibly funny…"
He smiled for a moment, then shoved himself to his feet. "Well, I suppose that I have to get work on Greg then if you don't want to have to off Malfoy. Are you sure you don't—"
"Very," Allie said.
Blaise nodded and left.
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That was the last they would talk about the duel for some time. Allie made a brief appearance at the High Lords of Chaos' post-Christmas get-together, but left shortly after presents were exchanged. Harry, for his part, spent most of the evening chatting with Parvati and Padma, who had recovered from her injuries during the break.
Mostly.
Parvati didn't quite hover, but even in the Tower of Turmoil she had taken to sitting near to her sister. Padma, Harry noted, didn't call her on it, something that he was sure she would have done before the attack. She may have recovered from her injuries, but she hadn't escaped unscathed.
It…hurt. Whenever Harry thought about it he felt a little stab of anger that he didn't know how to express. He wanted to blame himself because of his curiosity about whatever Dumbledore was hiding in the castle, but he couldn't figure out how anything he had done could have led to Padma and her attacker being trapped in that corridor during the Great Hogwarts Flood—as the event was now being called. The only other convenient target was Malfoy for insulting Allie, but blaming Malfoy for it struck Harry as sort of like blaming a puppy for piddling on the carpet.
Harry wasn't the only one that had lost enthusiasm at seeing the change that had come over the Patil twins. Fortunately the pranking the Quidditch teams was well-established, and so one very wintery Saturday they had gathered together to hit the locker-rooms in anticipation of the Ravenclaw/Slyherin game. The morning Slytherin practice went off without a hitch, but one enterprising Ravenclaw had rigged a magical camera up to a simple ward-line that caused the camera to go off when someone crossed it. To make matters worse, they had hidden the camera behind a notice-me-not charm and it had gotten at least one good picture of Harry and Ernie.
It had taken Tonks and Allie nearly an hour to figure out how to dispel the ward using only Harry and Cedric's descriptions, and then coach Cedric through re-laying it. Fortunately Justin's parents had wanted pictures of his time at Hogwarts, so while Harry had retrieved his invisibility cloak, Justin had gotten a spare pack of film from their dorm room. Ernie, meanwhile, had been sent off to Hagrid's hut to collect the school chickens.
When the Ravenclaws came back, not only did they receive blue and bronze hair dyes, but also a collection of photographs of chickens running through their locker room sporting the HLC colors of all eight house colors tie-dyed and trimmed with bright pink. They also received, at supper that day, a sternly worded letter of warning that while prank-traps were allowed, attempts to gather photographic or other evidence of the true identities of the High Lords of Chaos were not and violators could expect to receive all the humiliation due those who committed such perfidy. A giant image of tie-dyed chickens running through their locker room covered one wall.
Improvisation aside, targeting the Quidditch teams was a matter of habit. Deprived of any good targets of revenge for the Patils, Harry had taken to flying his broom in what free time he had, pushing himself to fly faster, make steeper dives and tighter turns.
This actually wasn't a bad use of his time as Thrace had come back to Hogwarts with scrolls of new plays in hand, and a vision of the Quidditch Trophy in her eyes. She immediately set to working the team hard in practice to get them ready for the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor game that was traditionally held on the Sunday after St. Valentine's Day.
No longer content to have Harry circle about when facing off what was widely regarded to be one of the best teams in the school, she had sent him back to Cedric to learn some of the advanced Seeker strategies. So Harry had had to learn the Wronski Feint and the Seeker Side-Shuffle and the Dice Throw—which was sort of like rolling only it was done forward-to-back or vice-versa instead of side-to-side—which Cedric said was even more impractical than it looked, but it looked really impressive.
Their third such practice had disappeared into a blizzard. Casper Adams warned against ice accumulation on the bludgers, and Mort predicted that someone was going to lose a head because they couldn't see the enchanted spheres. Cedric put the warning down to Mort being in Divination, but all it took was one shockingly-close miss for to Harry find it made a frightful amount of sense. More problematical was that with visibility rapidly shrinking, they couldn't see the pitch to keep in bounds. Finally, Thrace had flown up to one of the sets of goals and scrawled in giant glowing letters above the rings: NEITHER SNOW NOR RAIN NOR HEAT NOR GLOOM OF NIGHT SHALL STOP THESE QUIDDITCH PLAYERS IN THEIR GAME.
To Harry this sounded like a recipe for disaster, but it did make a handy point of reference for determining where he was. Fortunately Mortimer and Casper had spotted the snitch and cracked it between their bats. This wasn't quite a foul since they didn't actually touch it with their hands, but it violated the spirit of at least three rules. They had then batted it back and forth until Harry could snatch its shattered pieces out of mid-air. All in all, Harry was quite content to sacrifice one of his practice snitches to get Thrace to call it a practice, which was when he found out about her last bit of news.
"I didn't want to trouble you before practice," Thrace said as they lined up to go into the locker room.
"That's never a good sign," Tonks commented.
"Usually you like troubling us before practices," Casper added. "You say that the harder it is for us the better."
Trace glared at him.
"Right, then," she said severely. "Professor Snape is refereeing the next game."
"What?" Harry blurted.
"You heard me," she said grimly. "Snape is refing the game against the gryffs."
"But…he can't do that!" Fred—Winifredericka was really too much of a mouthful for anyone to use—protested.
"Apparently he can," Thrace said.
"But he has a team playing! It'd be like-like-like Windsoar Wimble-Burton refereeing in the All-Isles Cup!"
Harry looked at Cedric who was standing next to him.
"Wimble-Burton is Head Coach and Seeker Coach for England," Cedric said. "The man's a genius, tried to get Charlie Weasley to play for England."
"Slytherin has a pretty good team and they're definitely going to be in contention. If he calls excessive fouls, or doesn't call fouls, or does both to different sides, he could sabotage one of the team's chances of winning the Quidditch Cup!" Casper shouted.
"Or there could be excessive injuries," Mort added. "We could spend weeks in the Hospital wing. I know Madam Pomfrey is a fine medi-witch, but I don't want to spend that long in her care."
All of them gave tiny little shudders.
"And if that happened we would lose weeks, if not more, of practice time. Time that we'll certainly need to get ready if we're going to have a chance of beating Slytherin," Tonks said grimly. "No offense, Harry, but Higgs has been playing a lot longer than you."
"And he's pretty good," Cedric said. "But at least I can help Harry prep—"
"Unless you or he, or you and he, are in the hospital wing," Mort muttered.
"—I can't do that where the Gryffs are concerned, their Seeker is new this year too."
"And Snape hates me," Harry said. He wasn't going to say anything about Snape, the Forbidden Corridor, and the speculation that Snape wanted whatever was in it. For one thing it'd take too long to explain, and for another it didn't really change anything, and in any case he didn't have any proof. Telling them that Snape hated him wasn't anything they hadn't heard before, however, and unlike Snape and the corridor, he had ample witnesses and incidents.
"I know," Thrace said. "Look, I know all of the problems. None of you have said anything that I didn't say when I found out. I'm going to talk with Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch about it, but for now we have to assume that nothing is going to change at that we're going to be playing with a ref who has ulterior motives and is anything but impartial. I want you all to think about it, and what it means for us. Now go in, get dry, and get some rest."
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"If she can't get Hooch to change her mind," Cedric shouted over the storm a little while later as he, Harry, and Tonks trudged back to the castle, "you could always pretend to break your leg."
Harry held onto the line that had been magically stretched from Hogwarts to the Pitch so that they could find their way back. With the way night had come earlier they would have almost needed the rope even if the blizzard hadn't set in. As they walked, he contemplated his chances of really breaking his leg in the nearly hip-deep snow that was drifting around him.
"Better if he really broke his leg," Tonks shouted back as though hearing his thoughts. "That way he could get Pomfrey to write a note or something. If the weather is like this, we might think about doing it anyway since you're heavier, Ced. If we put Harry up he just might get blown away."
"Or we could just tie a tether to Harry's broom and then reel him back in after the match."
"Funny," Harry said. "I thought blizzards only came in like this in Siberia or Norway or something."
"This is Hogwarts," Tonks said. Her tone suggested that those three words explained everything.
On reflection, Harry wasn't sure that they didn't.
"Are either of you starting to feel warm?" he asked.
"It's the storm and the snow," Cedric said. "It makes you work harder to move and you don't move as fast so you heat up. Loosen your cloak some but don't open it all the way."
Harry tried this and it helped a little, but he still felt uncomfortably hot and his scar prickled. He wiped at it and his hand came away sticky with sweat, but his scar still tingled.
Tonks gave a cry that was stolen by the wind and the rope went slack in Harry's hands.
"Tonks," he cried. "Tonks!"
"What happened?" Cedric said.
"Tonks fell and I think she might have broken the rope," Harry said, grasping the loose rope in his right hand as he groped around on the ground. Something grabbed onto the back of his cloak and he started to turn but Cedric stopped him.
"I've got you and the rope," Cedric shouted. "Find Tonks!"
"I'm right here!" Tonks shouted, but the snow muffled her voice and made it impossible to tell which direction it was coming from. She said a word that he knew would have impressed Parvati and made Padma scowl in disapproval. A wand-tip flared to bright light from only a little ahead of them.
"Okay, Harry, go," Cedric said.
Harry struggled forward through the snow, Cedric's grip on the back of his cloak slowing him almost as much as the snow itself did. At last he reached Tonks and her glowing wand.
"Tonks, what happened?" Cedric asked.
"It wasn't my fault this time," Tonks said, her normally bubblegum-pink hair slowly shading to a furious crimson. She held up the end of the rope. The fibers all seemed to have parted cleanly. "This didn't snap or fray on its own. Someone or something cut this, Diggory."
Cedric and Harry stared at it for a moment. "I left my wand in my dorm," Harry said.
"So did I," Cedric admitted. "Can you find Hogwarts?"
"I can use a Point-Me spell. It's a handy little direction-finding charm," Tonks said.
"Easy?"
Tonks nodded, "I'll show it to you later. I have to put out the wand to use it."
"Go ahead," Harry said, grabbing the back of her robes.
The light went out.
"Point me Hogwarts!" Tonks cried. Then, "It's this way."
But they didn't manage more than three paces before the hot sensation Harry had been feeling began to burn. He let go of Tonks and cried out, scrambling for his robes and whatever was burning inside them. He felt a tight cord and jerked on it, the phoenix amulet that Allie had given him for his birthday and he had half-forgotten about popped out with a simple tug of its leather thong.
As soon as it was exposed to the frigid night air the phoenix of carved amber burst into scarlet and gold flames. It was no longer hot, at least not so Harry could feel it, but it melted the snow right out of the sky and bathed them in little puffs of steam, and light that extended further than the light from Tonks' wand.
Something shadowy and indistinct hovered at the edge of the circle of golden-red light.
Harry's scar split and felt like it was burning a moment before something upset and very, very close by shrieked its displeasure into the night. He could feel its outrage, its hatred, like a physical weight that slammed into him and sent him to the ground, but he had the presence of mind to keep the burning phoenix amulet raised as high as he could.
It shrieked again, but then there was the sound of something flapping in the wind or moving quickly across the top of the snow rather than blundering through it. The pain eased except for a throbbing headache.
"Harry?" Cedric called.
A hand fastened around Harry's wrist and he was jerked out of the snow. Cedric held him up until he could get his feet under him.
"What was that?" he asked quickly.
"I don't know," Cedric said.
Tonks gave a mute shake of her head. She looked uncommonly serious and her wand drifted back and forth in some kind of defensive posture.
"What is that thing?" Cedric asked, gesturing toward the amulet.
Harry looked at it. It was no longer burning, the flames had disappeared without causing any apparent harm, but it still glowed with a gold-colored light. "A gift," he said.
"Some gift," Cedric said with wide eyes. "I mean, I've heard about things like that, but I've never seen one for real."
"It was only supposed to grow warm when I was in danger and to glow in dark places. Bursting into flames…there was nothing like that when—I was told about it," he said, deciding against telling them about Allie or how it supposedly had protection spells laced onto it. But he did wonder if it was the light that had chased off whatever it was, or if it had been whatever protection spells Allie had placed on it. "I think…I think we should get back to Hogwarts," he said, then looked up at Cedric and Tonks
"As quickly as possible."
\|/\|/\|/
Albus Dumbledore stood in his office staring out the window at the blizzard that had enveloped the castle and spoke a single, heartfelt, word.
"Damn."
Luck. There was far too much luck going around on all sides. He hated luck. The stuff was impossible to predict, impossible to direct, impossible to do anything with except screw up plans.
Luck that it was Quirrell who had run into the troll instead of one of the teachers who would have handled it themselves. Luck that Harry's friend alerted him to Ms. Granger not being with her House. Luck that they arrived before the troll could kill her. Luck that they had run into Pomona and young Nymphadora before the troll could kill them. Luck that the halls had flooded, providing an opportunity for whomever it was to go after the…object. Luck that Padma Patil was there to delay that same person for long enough to make going after the object impossible. Luck that Thorne had been there to save Padma's life. Luck that a blizzard had hit the school to provide an opportunity to attack Harry. Luck that Thorne had given Harry that amulet.
Far, far too much luck.
What to do about it? Plot, plan, and hope that future luck was at least manageable. It was really all that he could do at this stage of the game.
What to do about the attack? He didn't even know what it was except that, maybe, it was the thing killing unicorns and, doubtfully, drinking their blood.
A vampire that had completely lost its senses and hoped that the Elixir could restore it? Albus wasn't certain, but he rather expected, taking into account what little he remembered of Dippel—who had worked in that area of study but whose experiments had been rather too grisly to hold Albus' interest—that if a vampire were to imbibe the Elixir of Life it would destroy the vampire utterly.
Too dangerous to leave some of the stuff sitting out and waiting to see what happened.
Too bad Harry wouldn't let me study that amulet. Also perfectly understandable, but disappointing nonetheless.
But what to do? Lock down the castle? Restrict movements? Cancel Quidditch? All things he might well have to do in the next few years, but right now everyone thought it was a creature that lived in the Forbidden Forest and he wasn't sure that they were wrong. In that case doing anything would be both premature and useless. And if it lived in the castle…
Against any enemy in the open, any army in the world, he was confident that Hogwarts could stand them off. Not forever, perhaps, but long enough. But against a single person, moving surreptitiously, he was no longer as confident as he had been that summer.
Measures would have to be taken to move it. Unfortunately that would have to wait for the summer holiday when there were no children present.
What he really should do was break the…object, publicly and in a way that could not be doubted. But Nicholas had said that it must remain intact past the vernal equinox. To the summer solstice would be best, but at least the equinox. It was a strange kind of foretelling that had little to do with divination, but much to do with having lived enough history to being to feel ripples and detect patterns in it and how it should play out.
It wasn't perfect. Even Nicholas could not predict the optimum outcome. All he could try to do was direct the future towards one that was less…bad. But to do otherwise, to destroy the Stone out of hand right now when Nicholas seemed to certain that it needed to remain intact for three months more, preferably six… If Nicholas said to wait until the solstice, then that was just what he had to do.
But if there was little else he could do against whoever was stalking his castle, he could still take preparatory measures against the future.
"Memo," he muttered. On his disk behind him a quill stood up, dipped itself in an elaborate silver inkwell, and poised over a scrap of parchment. "Have the house-elfs begin putting in stocks in anticipation of a siege lasting not less than…thirteen years."
Thirteen, a good, solid, magical number. Not as strong as three or powerful as seven, but robust and in this case better to err on the side of caution.
"Expect refugees and dependants to fill all wings and unused areas."
It was a pity that much of Hogwarts was closed. Indeed, it never in its thousand and more years of history had been fully in use. The Founders had anticipated the growth of magical education and left room for it to expand into, but it had never reached the extent they anticipated.
Had not yet, Albus corrected himself firmly. Class sizes had been shrinking for more than sixty years, first because of Gellert's foolish war, then because of Tom and his.
Once peace was restored families would grow. It had happened before, after all. With growth would come more students with them the need for more teachers. In time they could offer more subjects, studies in specific animals for those with such proclivities, or perhaps alchemy. Wouldn't that be something? No school in the world in the last century and a quarter had run an alchemy class that had lasted for more than three years, and many shut down far more quickly.
"Designate emergency medical wards and lay in basic stocks for them."
He would need to discuss with Poppy what potions would need to be stockpiled and how to do so to preserve their use. Also he would need to find out which they could safely purchase and which they should see to replenishing themselves. Such matters would have to be seen to carefully. Gathering supplies would take months, possibly years, lest he'd draw unwanted attention.
"Build racks for storing potions of all kinds, place into storage in anticipation of future need. Likewise assemble storage units for holding potion ingredients in all kinds of preparations, and place also into storage."
Severus too would need to be consulted. His advice for preparing for a siege, and his knowledge of potions, would be nearly as important as…whatever else he might be called upon to do.
"Set aside some places to be designated as armories. Assemble storage racks for weapons. Finish."
The quill finished scrawling out all of this in Dumbledore's rather loopy handwriting before flopping to one side, leaving the memo on the center of the desk.
There. He had conceded the point to the future. The war was coming, and he had just acknowledged that Hogwarts might be placed in the center of it. Did he have a choice? If he retired, if he left Hogwarts, would it be spared?
The fire in his fireplace guttered slightly.
"You like that idea no more than I do," Albus whispered. "But if the safety of the students could be assured."
The fire in the fireplace guttered again.
"I see," he said heavily. "In that case we shall face it together, Old Friend."
After a moment he shook himself, shedding his melancholy like a dog shedding water after a bath. "Now, about Severus' petition to referee the next Quidditch match. It's so nice to see him finely expressing interest about taking an active role in extracurricular activities, but there is a reason why we have a dedicated flying instructor and it isn't like she has all that much work. Still, Severus did have a point where Harry's safety is concerned."
"As though he'd be able to stop a magical attack while perched on top of a broom," the Sorting Hat scoffed.
"He would certainly be closer and in a better position to help Harry," Albus replied, then lifted a hand before the Sorting Hat could speak again. "But this is about Severus, not Harry. He used to take so much joy from flying, but hasn't been on a broom in years. It's a good sign if he's expressing interest again."
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The night after the attack Harry was content to sit by the fireplace and read the alchemy text that Allie had given him. Next to him on a side table was a leather-bound book with an embossed cover and spine decorated with gold tooling. It had been a gift from Justin, intended for Harry to use for his first grimoire, and one of the high-rag paper pages was already half-covered in an intricate spell diagram that should, in a year or two, help him to repeat on purpose what he had done Halloween night in the girl's bathroom.
Many believe that the sole purpose of Alchemy is a fool's quest, that its only worthwhile endeavor is the creation of the Philosopher's Stone (see Chapter 3). The Truth is the exact opposite. Alchemy does not exist for the purposes of the Stone, so much as that the Stone exists for the purposes of alchemy. To create the Philosopher's Stone is to achieve the merely physical end of a journey that encompasses the Mind and the Spirit, Arte of Magic and Science, Rude Flesh and Divine Splendor. As the Many Things are of this One Thing, so is the One Thing of Many Things.
Alchemy is not a quest to rise above the earthly senses as it is to release oneself from such senses. To find the Philosopher's Stone is to understand the essential secret of nature, to understand the rules and laws that by which the natural orders are ordained. To arrive at this point is nothing less than to have achieved perfect Wisdom, of which the Stone is the physical embodiment. To most the Stone is the great prize at the end of the journey, but the Alchemist who creates it knows that the Philosopher's Stone's greatest value is what it represents.
Harry considered this, the opening paragraphs, for a minute or so before tugging at the silk place-marking ribbon and opening to an earlier passage.
Perhaps one of the most misunderstood alchemy texts is the short passage known variously as The Emerald Tablet, Tabula Smaragdina, or The Secret of Hermes. Some, almost always novices or those with only a rudimentary understanding of Alchemy, claim that the Tablet provides a guide to the creation of the Philosopher's Stone. Alchemists, however, believe that the Tablet reveals the ancient secret of the Primordial Substance and its transmutations. Although, to conceded the point, since the Primordial Substance is the One Thing that the Many Things come from, and the Philosopher's Stone is the One Thing that is created by the Many Things, to understand the Primordial Substance is to understand the truest qualities of the Philosopher's Stone.
Harry flipped back to the previous section and continued reading.
Only a handful of alchemists have created the Philosopher's Stone, following a variety of sources. Perhaps the most famous is theBook of Abraham the Jew, which found its way into the hands of a scribe named Nicholas Flamel in the fourteenth century.
Harry stopped and stared at the book for several long minutes, then quickly flipped to the last pages. Nothing, there was no index. He flipped it open to the table of contents, then to chapter three. There was nothing about Nicholas Flamel in that chapter either, though there was a little more about the Philosopher's Stone.
He stood and crossed to where Justin and Ernie were doing charms homework and mutely flipped the book open before them and pointed.
"You found him," Ernie said first. "But look at that date. We live longer than muggles, but even for a wizard he can't possibly be alive."
"Some kind of descendant, probably," Justin said. "That would make sense, wouldn't it, Ernie?"
Ernie nodded slowly, "But I can't recall ever hearing of the Flamels before."
"They could be foreign," Justin said. He looked at Harry. "Is that all it says?"
Harry shrugged, "I haven't read it through completely yet, but there's no index. I skimmed the chapter about the Philosopher's Stone, but there's no mention of either him or that book, the Book of Abraham the Jew. I figure if Flamel had made the Philosopher's Stone the books would have said it, right? I mean, if he had access to it he'd still be alive and not just some descendant involved with whatever Dumbledore is hiding, right?"
"What about the Encyclopedia Magica?" Justin asked. "You have a copy, right? If this Book-thing is so well-known, maybe it's in there."
Harry wanted to smack his head. "Of course, and we can look for Flamel there too."
"You mean you haven't?" Justin asked, standing.
Harry shook his head, feeling rather stupid. "I forgot."
"You and Justin go check. I'll let the others know," Ernie said. "We'll meet up in the Tower."
"I'll take care of Allie," Harry said. The Slytherin dungeons weren't exactly across the school from the Hufflepuff sett, but they weren't close, and of all the common rooms Slytherin was furthest from the Tower.
They had devised a simple method of calling together the High Lords of Chaos. So after Harry and Justin disappeared into the dorms, Ernie went up to Cedric and let him know that Harry was retiring because of the excitement of the attack after the Quidditch practice. Retiring was one of the keywords they had agreed upon that could be worked into an ordinary conversation. Being nearer to her in age, Cedric would attract less attention going to Tonks. Ernie, meanwhile, would go to the owlery where he would pen short notes to each of the Patils, each note ostensibly from the other sister.
Harry had gone immediately to the small bookshelf in his room and pulled out the A, B, E, F, and P volumes of the Encyclopedia Magica and tossed them on his bed. Then he opened his trunk and pulled his invisibility cloak out of the bottom of it, spilling the last of the chocolate frogs that Hermione had gotten him for Christmas onto the floor.
By now Harry had long-since perfected his technique of snapping off the animated frog's legs and he stuck one in his mouth as he rooted around in a side-compartment of his trunk that held a limited supply of owl-order pranks. Ordering the various devices hadn't been hard, but sneaking them past Filch, who had long experience with the Weasley boys, had taken a great deal of thought.
Fortunately the owners of the pranks shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade had just as much experience at getting their merchandise past the caretaker as Filch had intercepting it. The first package had come in a cunningly crafted false-bottom of a care-package filled with baked goods that would have been convincing to anyone who didn't know of his Aunt and Uncle. The next three had both been delivered by Hedwig flying out with a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Patil from Parvati or Padma, after which the package had been picked up, and then dropped off in a secluded part of the grounds, the first by the lake, and the third in the graveyard north of the castle. The second package of the three had gone missing and likely found either confiscated by Filch or repurposed by Fred and George Weasley.
"A lot of stuff in here about alchemy," Justin said. "Nothing at all about the Book of Abraham the Jew. What's that?" he asked, gesturing to the small device Harry had pulled out of his trunk as he picked up the E volume.
"A distraction for Slytherin dorms," Harry said.
"What about the Ghost-Net?" Justin asked, referring to the small group of ghosts that had signed on with the Chaos Lords and provided lookouts, messengers, and the occasional distraction.
"It isn't organized as all that," Harry said. "The Bloody Baron is no one's messenger and the only ghosts allowed in the common room and dorms are that house's resident ghost. We can't even send Peeves." He glanced at the Famous Wizard card. Dumbledore again.
"What is it?" Justin asked.
Harry glanced up at him from the card. "I don't know, something I…" he flipped the card over. "I knew Flamel was familiar. Look."
Justin took the card and read the back. "Dumbledore, Grindelwald—ten pin bowling?" he looked up at Harry quizzically and Harry gestured for him to keep reading, "—and his work in alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel."
The other Hufflepuff boy looked up at Harry. "I've got this stuff, you go and get Allie." He hesitated, "do you want us to get Weasley and Granger as well?"
The Patils had taken things in stride, but Harry's friends in Hufflepuff had been really put off by how easily Ron had gotten them to turn on a person who, if they weren't quite friends with, were at least friendly with. Harry wasn't sure if it was because of some violation of Hufflepuff loyalty or because it had hurt him or something else entirely. Personally he would have liked to have had Ron and Hermione there, but he could fill them in on what he had found out just as easily and if it made them more comfortable…
Besides, Ron, for reasons Harry still could not understand, seemed to think of Allie much the same way that Snape thought of him. Allie, for the most part, seemed to consider the Gryffindor as being beneath her notice which only infuriated Ron more.
If anything had become clear over the last few months this whole having friends thing was much more work than it had appeared when he hadn't had any.
Harry wouldn't have traded it for anything.
Still, just because he liked having friends and wanted them around didn't mean that he had to put them into situations where they would only fight with each other.
"No," he told Justin. "We still haven't told them about the Tower. Besides, I can fill them in later."
"Right then," Justin said, gathering up the books after using the Dumbledore Famous Wizard card as a bookmark. "You get going."
Harry snatched up his cloak and hurried from the dorm and into the burrows. A long twisting passage curved down and down and around and around until it ended at an iron-bound oak door that led into the second-level dungeons. Two passages, three turns, and a trick staircase later he was near the corridor that held the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
He pulled the cloak over him and slunk down the corridor to stand before a blank section of wall. Looking around to make sure no one was coming he pulled out the device he had taken from his trunk. It looked sort of like a golf-ball stuck on top of a cricket ball, with a knob projecting from on side, a large soup-spoon held against both with glue, a red T-handle on top, and a pin, like the one Madam Malkin had used to pin up his robes months ago, stuck in the smaller ball.
He pumped the red handle twice, then tapped the knob three times and gave it a quarter-turn to the left.
Harry looked the device over once more, checked the hall again, and carefully let an arm out of the cover of the cloak.
"Superiority," he told the wall. It shimmered and disappeared.
Quickly he snatched the pin sticking from the top of the device and pulled it out.
"One," Harry said the password that activated the device quickly, "two, five."
"Three, sir! Three!" the device barked.
The spoon broke off with a tinny ping and Harry threw the device into the opening. The wall shimmered closed behind it.
Harry ran.
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Everyone in the Slytherin common room surreptitiously looked up when the entrance slid open. It wasn't late or even nearing curfew, but in a House known for its cunning one quickly learned to keep track of the comings and goings of one's housemates. Thus, almost everyone saw the little object come flying in and the entrance seal shut behind it.
The more enterprising of the lot knew that no good could come of this and immediately sought shelter in the dorms or raised shielding spells as the device bounced off an end-table, a chair-back, the head of Goyle (who grunted slightly but otherwise didn't seem to notice), and a pale white cat that was busily, but neatly, eating a blood-pop—nobody was quite sure who the cat or the blood-pop belonged to—and landed on the floor in front of a couch occupied by one Draco Malfoy.
The device rested on its side for a moment, then slowly the larger ball began to spin, the smaller ball attached to it likewise spinning around the larger ball. Slowly it righted itself until the smaller ball was perched on top of the larger ball, when it stopped.
Draco reached down to pick it up. Just as his fingers made contact the device squawked.
"I," it announced in a high-pitched voice accented with self-important splendor, "am a ten-second dung-bomb! I am a ten second dung-bomb! Ten! Nine! Eight!..."
\|/\|/\|/
By the time Harry reached the Tower of Turmoil the rest of the High Lords were already present.
"What kept you?" Ernie asked.
"Mrs. Norris," Harry said, folding his cloak.
"I have to ask," Allie said, crossing her arms. "A ten-second dung-bomb? Really?"
"A what?" Justin asked.
"Harry threw a ten-second dung-bomb into the common room," Allie said. "It just started announcing itself. 'I am a ten-second dung-bomb. I am a ten-second dung-bomb. Ten. Nine. Eight…
"According to Parkinson the thing landed right in front of Draco," Allie continued. She let a smirk slip and added, "It got him pretty good too."
"I see you made it out all right," Harry observed.
"I was in my dorm. I just stayed there when I heard the scramble to get out of the common room and slipped out after the explosion. So what happened?"
"Two things," Harry said. He explained about the blizzard and the apparent attack against him, Cedric, and Tonks.
"It burst into flames?" Allie repeated when he had finished.
Harry nodded.
"Can we see it?" Ernie asked.
Harry fished out of the phoenix amulet and took it off, holding it up for them to see by the leather thong.
"Where'd you find it?" Ernie asked.
"I gave it to him for his birthday," Allie said flatly, crossing the room. "May I?"
At Harry's nod she lifted it by the thong and peered at the amulet. "Nothing I put on this should have made it burst into flames. Grow hot, yes, but not so hot as to burn. And whatever protections it carried might block very basic thaumaturgy used against you, possibly even as much as a leg-locker curse. Standing off a dark creature of any ilk should be quite beyond it."
She poked the phoenix with a finger and yelped. She stuck her burned finger in her mouth and quickly passed the amulet back to Harry.
"Do you think it's dangerous?" Harry asked.
"Only for someone else, someone other than you," Allie said, waving the injured finger around before wetting it again. "I don't know who modified it, or what they did, but something powerful has touched that, Harry. Either it's someone that wants to help or guard you, or it's someone that wants you for him- or herself. Either way, don't let it out of your sight until this year is over. In fact, it'd be better if you never took it off."
"If you don't know what it is, maybe we should go to Dumbledore about it," Tonks said. "I mean, just because it stood off…whatever it was…"
"That thing is probably the only reason you, Diggory, and Harry are alive," Allie said flatly. "After this school year is over, I'd agree with you. Until whatever it was that tried to kill you is gone, losing it would only put Harry—and anyone around him—in more danger than we all are already."
Tonks nodded unhappily and turned back to Harry. "You said that there were two things?"
Harry nodded to Justin who opened one of the volumes of the Encyclopedia Magica.
"We found Nicholas Flamel," Justin said as the Dumbledore Famous Wizard Card fluttered to the floor.
Allie knelt and picked it up, and froze. "Tonks, fire, right now," she snapped, running a finger across the surface of the card.
Harry looked at her quizzically, but Tonks didn't hesitate. She whipped out her wand, pointed at a patch of bare stone floor, and conjured a small fire into which Allie quickly fed the card.
"Sorry about that, Harry, I'll replace it," Allie said.
"That's okay, I have another," Harry said, "But why…" he gestured to the fire.
"That was Dumbledore's card," Allie said. "Tonks said that he was having me followed through the portraits, remember? I tried to put a binding on it so that he couldn't leave and tell another of his cards or portraits. I don't know enough about portraits and pictures to know if the binding was enough or if it held long enough for the fire to reduce Dumbledore, or what happened after the card was destroyed."
"Why would he be following you?" Justin asked.
"I don't know. I'll be sure to ask next time I see him," Allie said as Tonks vanished the fire. "Harry, unless we want the Old Man up here I suggest that you change the password immediately."
Harry nodded.
"Why bother? It doesn't work unless your wand is keyed to it," Ernie said.
"Do you really want to rely on that where the Headmaster of Hogwarts is concerned?" Padma asked.
"And we shouldn't leave here that way," Parvati added.
"Oh?" Tonks asked the younger girl. "Just how do you propose we leave then?"
"I don't suppose any of you left your brooms up here?" Parvati asked.
"It's a blizzard out there!" Tonks protested.
"Look, I'm going to go reset the password," Harry said. "We can decide how we're going to leave, and I can key you in, later."
He hurried down the stairs, past the rooms that were slowly filling with potion supplies, pranks in progress, odds and ends found around the castle that might have a future use, Allie's lab, Tonks' lab, the locked door that was covered with magical Seals that held the bubbling potions. At last he reached the Tower door and placed his wand in the keyhole.
"The password is—" Harry stopped, then withdrew his wand as he thought. Literary phrases had become something of a pattern and he wanted a good one. "The password is 'do not meddle in the affairs of wizards for they are subtle and quick to anger.'"
That was pretty appropriate he decided. He could have wished for something shorter, but that would do quite nicely.
Harry hurried back upstairs to find his friends standing around morosely.
"We really need some furniture in here," Tonks said after a moment.
"What did we find out?" Harry asked.
"Well, it seems pretty certain that the Headmaster's friend is the same Nicholas Flamel that created the Philosopher's Stone back in the fourteenth century," Padma said.
"Which means the Philosopher's Stone is probably what's being hidden in the school," her sister said.
\|/\|/\|/
So significant was the discovery of Flamel that Harry completely forgot that Snape was going to referee their match against Gryffindor.
That lasted all the way until the next practice.
A kind of manic nervousness had the entire team on edge. Mort and Casper had taken to having long conversations about whether to use hickory beater bats or if oak would be better. One afternoon Cedric spread his entire collection of broomstick shaft oils across the floor of the broom-maintenance area and refused to allow them to be moved. Thrace would stop them in the halls, or sit down at meals, and start describing plays using her hands and the odd bit of food to demonstrate.
They talked about Snape and his motives. Snape would favor the Hufflepuffs to keep the Gryffindor score down which would give his own team a less of a point-spread to have to overcome for the Cup. Snape would favor Gryffindor because of his animosity towards Hufflepuff. Snape would do his best to see that the most members from both teams were sent to the Hospital wing so that he could use their spilled blood and amputated limbs for ghastly potion experiments.
By the morning of the game Thrace was barely able to get out her pep talk. Since Harry had a hard time concentrating enough to hear it, he didn't catch most of it that she got out. They shuffled out onto the field, brooms clenched in white fingers, eyes staring off across the pitch without seeing the far side.
Standing in the middle like the ringmaster of a demonic circus stood Severus Snape.
They stared at him.
He stared back. Then his face twisted into a grotesque mask as he did something that all the seventh years swore was impossible, and would cause several first years who had been observing through binoculars to wake up in the middle of the night screaming in terror for the next three weeks.
He smiled.
"Welcome," he said, causing the players on both teams to flinch. "I want a good clean game today…Potter."
Harry flinched.
Snape smiled again.
"Captains, shake hands."
Thrace and Wood both lunged forward. They quickly grasped hands. Just as quickly they let them go. Never once did they take their eyes off of Snape.
"Mount your brooms."
They did so, with alacrity.
Snape released the balls, and they took off…
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A/N: Ten-second dung-bomb inspired by R. A. Heinlein and Monty Python. I do not own a ten-second dung-bomb, but I do own a much-battered copy of Starship Troopers.