ROWLING IS.

Sister Shibley's accent provided by the Scottie Translator at whoohoo. co. uk, because there is no way I'm going to try for an authentic 15th Century Scots accent. Even modern Scottish makes my spellchecker weep.

CHAPTER SIX

Lies, Misconceptions, and Missed Opportunities

What did wizards and witches teach their children?

Bagshot claimed that the Demdike and Chattox families of Pendle Hill had been Squibs. Related to the Starks and Macilents, and through them the Gaunts. But whatever their blood status, a number of Bagshot's statements were not supported by the evidence. The Pendle Hill witches had been tried and executed for murder, not witchcraft. And they'd been hanged, not burnt.

Bagshot claimed nearly five thousand burnt as witches in the century proceeding Seclusion. Actual historical records from the early 1400s through to the early 1800s supported an estimate closer to five hundred executed for crimes related to witchcraft. Most of them hanged.

First and foremost, the Wizarding World taught its children lies.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

Sister Shibley had died in the 15th Century, two or three years before Henry Tudor's coronation. She'd died in a brief revolt by the centaurs, one that had destroyed the abbey formerly associated with Hogwarts.

''Aa'm nae sure Ah kin, Professur. Aa've hud mah wain' since Ah was a wee bairn.'' By the standards of her era and region, she must've had a very urbane accent.

''I'm just curious as to when the Ministry brought in the Ordinaries and Non-Essentials.''

''Och, it was efter th' Bludy Baron's time.''

I stopped short in the hall. Sister Shibley hovered next to me, glowing faintly in the dim light. It was raining sideways now, and the windows let hardly any light in.

''Really? That's very helpful. Thank you, Sister.'' Sister Shibley, who had died in the 15th Century and never heard of OWLS or NEWTs in her lifetime, claimed that those tests had come in after the Bloody Baron. So far as I could tell everything about the sister's ghost was consistent with the life of a young woman of the 15th Century. But the Baron? A man in a powdered wig claiming to be a 12th Century lord? Speaking Modern English with an upper crust Hogsmeade accent? A fraud, obviously.

''Aa'm canty tae help. Hardly a sool speaks tae me.''

Poor kid. She may have died in the 15th Century, but she couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. She'd said she hadn't taken her permanent vows before her death. Six hundred years with no-one but the Grey Sisters or the other ghosts for any permanent company. Although ghosts seemed less concerned with the passage of time, being stripped from their body's clock.

I started walking again. Sister Shibley kept pace.

''I have a meeting now, Sister. But thanks for your help. And if you see Peeves, tell him I expect better from a millennium-old imp. A bucket of whitewash over the door? Weak.''

''Yoo're a brae cheil, Professur.'' She dived through the floor. I'd learned since meeting her that this was her her favourite way of ending a conversation.

The Head Teacher's office is guarded by a grim looking stone gargoyle. Professor Isgar came out of the entrance behind the guardian just as I approached. It slid back into place, stone grinding on stone, as he left.

''You're looking a bit more alert,'' he said. ''This morning I doubt you'd have noticed if someone set you on fire.''

''Not. Funny.'' I cleared my throat. ''Sorry. I guess I'm still a bit grouchy.''

''After the night you had? No need to apologize.''

''Thanks. You look like you didn't get much sleep either.''

''Hardly any. Galilea kept me up till the little morning. And speaking of herself, you'd best get along if you've a meeting.''

''Right. See you later.''

Damn it, what was that woman up to? Was I completely misreading her?

The student password was 'swordfish', and hadn't changed in Galilea's four years as Headmistress. The gargoyle stepped aside as I mangled llwyd blaidd, the staff password. Behind the gargoyle there was a slowly revolving spiral staircase.

The thing about a revolving spiral staircase is that it shouldn't take you anywhere except in a circle. Sometimes I think wizards do things like that just to show off.

A great circular window pierced the outside wall of the Head Teacher's tower. Galilea used the space beneath the window as a reading area. She was reclining on her small leather couch reading a book when I came in.

''Hello, Professor Hunter. Have you seen the Marauder's Map? Come over and have a look.''

I stood above her, looking. She waved at the rumpled piece of parchment framed above her couch. ''A very creative group of students managed to tap into Hogwarts' defensive wards, creating an interactive map of the school. I confiscated it from a student I caught in Salazar Slytherin's old family chapel. The child vandalised sacred art that dates back to the druids.''

Grimward set her book aside and stretched. She swung her feet off the couch and sat up, looking up at me with those grey-green eyes. I caught a glimpse of matching green lace under her blouse.

Oh God.

At some point we really would need to have a serious talk. But I was too stressed for anything like that right now.

She stood, taking a small step towards me. ''What do you think, Professor?''

Things would be so much easier if Isgar wasn't a nice guy. What was I going to do about him? ''Of the map? It's fascinating, but I don't know enough magic to really understand it.''

A frown flickered across her face and she stepped past me, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked over to a curved bookshelf. She really was shorter than she seemed, particularly once you realized those shoes added two inches.

''Have you had a chance to study the House system at Hogwarts?''

''Not really, but it's come up repeatedly in the works I'm reading. It's obviously important within your culture, but I'm not sure I understand it yet.''

Galilea took something off the shelf and turned to face me. She held a battered old leather hat, so worn it barely held its peak.

''My God. Is that... That really... ?''

''The Sorting Hat? Yes. Take a seat.''

Patched, frayed, burned. More patches and stitching than original leather, really. A thousand-year-old historical artefact, casually stored on an office shelf.

''That hat - That hat holds partial memories from the Founders' Era! It's a priceless store of information! You can't just keep it on a shelf!''

''But Professor, if I didn't keep it at hand how would I consult its priceless information? Or it's amazing trove of filthy limericks? Please, sit down. Indulge my curiosity.''

I sat back on the couch. ''You can't be serious. This won't work.''

''I am very serious. I have no idea if this will work. As I said, indulge me.''

She lowered the Hat down on my head. It smelled strongly of oiled leather and faintly of shampoo. And then something looked inside my head.

''So soon? I'm not done rehearsal! Oh, how odd.''

''You're telling me?''

''Aren't you a bit old for this? Oh well. Let's see... Known her for less than three days and you're already plotting to take the boyfriend out of the picture? Planning to undermine Wizarding culture through the education system? Humph. And what's this? An insurance policy on your ex?''

''That is not - ''

''Slytherin,'' said the hat.

''Now let me get back to work.'' It fell silent, and that strange presence pulled back from my mind.

I pulled the Hat off. ''That is not why - Jessi and I both had - I just haven't updated my policy package! Yet!''

''The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.''

''Headmistress!''

She took the Hat from my hands, laughing. ''Oh, you're not the first to be thrown off balance by what the Hat sees. I thought I'd go to Ravenclaw.''

I took another look at her green and silver snake pendant, hanging low on its silver chain. ''Why didn't you?''

''The Hat pointed out that while I do want to know things, which is a core trait of that House, my reason for wanting knowledge is more Slytherin in nature.''

''Wanted to lord it over the ignorant masses, eh?''

''Something like that. Oh, and Geoffrey? I'm up here.''

I stood up quickly. ''Ah, sorry. I was just admiring your pendant.'' I bit back the plural that threatened to fall off the tip of my tongue.

''Why thank you.'' She put her hand up to the pendant, coincidentally pulling her collar open a bit. ''It was a gift from my late husband, on our first anniversary.''

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

I'd tracked down references to my friends' families during the war. Three Death Eaters had suspected that Grimward Manor was a safe-house for Dumbledore's Army. It wasn't, but that didn't stop the Death Eaters from killing Kenrich Grimward (1970-1998) and his daughter Adolpha (1996-1998). Or hospitalizing Galilea Grimward (Nee Selwyn; 1972- ). They'd been so distracted with their fun they'd missed the call to arms, and the Battle Over Little Whinging.

Murderers. Sadists. Incompetent idiots.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

''It goes with your eyes. He obviously had excellent taste.''

Galilea played with the locket. ''I thought so. He also bought me those trousers you admired earlier.''

God she was standing less than a foot from me. She smelled clean. She smelled faintly spicy, like peppermint.

To hell with waiting for later. ''Galilea, what is - ''

The fireplace flared blinding emerald. I jumped straight up and yelped...

Well, okay, shrieked.

What is your relationship with Idris? It would have to wait for later.

The green Floo Network fire formed into a burning face. Damn I hated that.

''Knock knock, Gally! Are you in?''

Galilea rolled her eyes. ''Rita. Your sense of timing is as keen as ever.''