To do a great right, do a little wrong.

-Merchant of Venice IV.1.219

"Where in the world did you acquire that many Dungbombs?" Daphne wondered.

Blaise smirked. "Weasley twins," he explained. His comrade nodded. "That'll keep Filch busy for hours, don't you think?"

"Of course," she acknowledged, "but it does make me feel a bit redundant. You were quite capable of executing this plan on your own."

Her fellow Slytherin shrugged. "You're faster with finding things," he reminded her. "I'll stand guard, let you know if anyone else decides to raid Filch's office."

"I doubt they will."

"Yeah, but you can never be too careful. Especially not after yesterday." His lips pursed. He knew, intellectually at least, that Harry had had no reason to suspect that the Chalice of the Moon would somehow summon Dumbledore. But a tiny part of his mind insisted on blaming the poor Parselmouth. He tried to ignore it, but….

Daphne flinched. "Here we are," she murmured, slowing to a halt.

The Slytherins lingered for a few moments, waiting for a pair of fifth years to leave the hall. The second the older students were gone, Daphne took out her wand. "Alohamora," she incanted. Waving her wand at Filch's door. Then, before anyone else could come through the hall and see them, she slipped inside the unguarded room.

Blaise hexed his book bag. It ripped at the seams, dropping his texts all over the floor. He dropped to his hands and knees. He listened hard. At the first hint of footsteps, he would begin gathering up his books.

He acted not a moment too soon, because a trio of Ravenclaws was already turning the corner. Grumbling to himself, Blaise grabbed at his texts, shoving them into a rough pile. "Bloody useless bag- Don't suppose any of you eagles know a strengthening charm for it?"

The lead Ravenclaw jumped. "Er, no," she replied. "Sorry." She increased her pace, wanting to get through the hall before Blaise asked for help picking up his scattered possessions.

The Slytherin grinned. "Works every time," he muttered, and scattered his books once more.

He had to repeat his performance three more times before Daphne slipped out of the office. The witch's face was tight.

"Nothing?" Blaise asked incredulously.

"Nothing," she confirmed. "I searched through his files twice, I even tried summoning it, but the Marauder's Map isn't there."

Blaise swore.

"Indeed," his primmer classmate agreed. She dropped to the floor, helped him gather up books. "Do you have any idea where it might be?"

"Maybe Filch burned it?" he suggested. "I don't know."

"I don't think he did," Daphne disagreed. "I obviously don't know him very well, but he seems to me like the kind of person who holds onto things. Also, when I was looking through his files, I noticed that he still has records from the late fifties. Why would he keep the records but not the contraband?"

Her friend felt sick. "You think Dumbledore has it?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "I do think that someone took it. Who it might be, though, I have no idea."

Blaise groaned. It looked like he'd spent half an hour on the floor and departed with ten Galleons for nothing. Stupid Weasleys with their overpriced- wait. D'you think the Weasley twins might have something to do with this?"

Daphne's jaw tightened. "It would explain their uncanny knowledge of the secret passages."

"And their equally uncanny ability to avoid Filch," Blaise mused. "And Snape, at least before the acromantulas tore off his arm and got him fired. Remind me to send them a thank-you gift."

"Focus, Blaise," his friend hissed. "If the Weasley twins have the Marauder's Map, we need to tell Neville. He's the only one of us with access to the Gryffindor dorms."

The thought of sending Neville to rob from Hogwarts' most notorious pranksters made Blaise blanch. The Gryffindor had grown up a lot over the past two years, but… it would be like sending fresh meat into the lion's den. If the poor kid was caught, he'd probably spend the next five years being changed into a canary at totally random intervals.

So, groping about his memories for a way to save poor Neville's hide, Blaise stumbled upon a solution. "How about, instead of sending one of our own on a kamikaze mission, we try that Summoning Charm Harry taught us?"

Daphne blushed. "Yes, that it a much better idea."

"What was the incantation again?" the wizard wondered.

"Let me do it," the witch ordered, wanting to reclaim at least a bit of her dignity.

"Go crazy," Blaise shrugged.

"The spell is accio," she lectured, waving her wand. "Accio Marauder's Map."

They waited, shoulders tense. For a while it seemed like nothing would happen, that Daphne's spell had failed or that the map was out of her magical range, but then an old piece of parchment whizzed down the corridor into the witch's waiting hand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she murmured.

Ink bloomed in the center of the page, spreading outward in thin, spidery lines. It traced the shape of the castle, the names of students and staff.

Blaise and Daphne lost no time. The scoured the enchanted parchment, heads together, desperately seeking a single five-letter name. But no matter how hard they searched, they couldn't find any mention of Saysa.

Frustrated, the two Slytherins searched for Dumbledore, thinking that perhaps his location might hint at- at something. They didn't know what. Perhaps, since Saysa was a basilisk and the Map had been designed for humans, she couldn't show up. Perhaps if they found Dumbledore somewhere strange, they could go to that place and rescue his hostage.

But the headmaster was seated in the Great Hall, in the sight of half of Hogwarts. They sincerely doubted that he had hauled his serpentine captive into the public eye.

"Should we keep the Map?" Blaise asked once they had given up hope.

"Let's bring it to the Isle," Daphne sighed. Her head sagged. "That should take it out of the Weasleys' range. This is Sirius and Remus's, so we aren't technically stealing it. Perhaps they can do something." But her tone was doubtful, and with good reason.

"You might have missed her," Sirius suggested. "It's easy enough to do. There are tons of names on this thing." He flicked his wand at the parchment. The names vanished. "Moony came up with this feature in our sixth year. He figured that if we ever needed to find each other quickly, this was the best way to do it."

He and the other two wizards searched the map until their eyes ached, but they saw no names, much less the name they were searching for.

Finally they were forced to concede defeat. Saysa, wherever she may be, was not in Hogwarts Castle.

Aberforth Dumbledore didn't know what hit him. One minute, he'd been feeding his goats. The next, he'd awakened to find himself tied to a chair, a rag tied over his eyes, wand-less and helpless.

But not, he quickly discovered, gagged. He cursed at the top of his lungs, too angry to be afraid.

"Sorry about this," said a male voice- and to the old man's shock, his captor seemed to mean it. Aberforth quieted. What kind of man would kidnap someone and then apologize for it?

When the man spoke next, his voice had hardened. "Where is Saysa?"

"Never heard of it," he snapped. "In other words, I have no bloody idea."

"The basilisk," the voice elaborated. "In human form, she's tall and pale with dark hair and slitted yellow eyes. As a snake, she's about sixty feet long and bright green."

Wonderful, he'd been kidnapped by a madman. "Everyone knows that Animagi can't become magical creatures," Aberforth pointed out. "And I still don't know what you're talking about."

"I thought you'd say that," the voice growled. The hairs on Aberforth's neck stiffened. For the first time, a tiny trickle of fear made its way up his spine. His captor was desperate, and desperate meant dangerous.

The blindfold burst into brilliant but heatless flames. The hostage yelped, instinctively jerking his head away from the light. The fire dimmed, but his vision remained dim. He blinked rapidly, trying to disperse the spots.

He could just barely make out a dark silhouette with a pale face. That was all.

Then his vision blurred for an entirely different reason. He found himself reliving the events of the past twenty-four hours: the pub-wide brawl he'd broken up last night, the sickly goat kid that was finally starting to put on weight, the new recipe he would add to the menu that night. Mundane things, easy to forget, replayed themselves in incredible detail.

Had Aberforth been closer to his brother, he might have recognized a Legilimency attack. But the Dumbledore siblings had been estranged over a century ago, and the younger boy had never been interested in the esoteric and exotic. He was a simple man, content to run his pub and exist on the sidelines. He had no knowledge of the Mind Arts.

Then, just as quickly as the barrage had begun, it was over. Aberforth was left gasping and sweating, trying to grasp what had happened to him.

"I'm sorry," his captor repeated quietly. It was filled with grief, both at what he'd been forced to do and at how he'd failed. "But Saysa's life is in danger. I couldn't take the risk that you might be lying, I had to… but necessity does not create morality. My deepest apologies, sir, for violating your mind, and I apologize once again for this." The blurred shape lifted its arm. "Obliviate."

Hemp, boneset, adders tongue, aconite, parosela. Hemp, boneset, adders tongue, aconite, parosela.

Neville repeated the ingredients in his mind. His lips moved soundlessly.

Aconite, monkshood, wolfsbane: a key ingredient in the Wolfsbane Potion, which kept werewolves tame throughout the full moon. It was probably the most important, the one that held the potion together.

Adders tongue, sometimes called serpents tongue. This herb, too, had lunar associations, and its name made Neville wonder. Serpents tongue, serpent-tongued, Parseltongue, Lightning Speaker….

Boneset. It was a healer, a soother of pain that appeared in several medicinal potions. It was particularly potent in healing curse-induced injuries. It could drive out the evil of lycanthropy's curse, cleanse it.

Hemp. The centaurs used it in their attempts to divine fate. It was a widespread plant, practical and tough.

And parosela. Neville was not entirely certain how the herb would contribute to the potion, but he had recognized its leaves. It would be the most difficult to acquire, but he could and would and had to do it.

The first four herbs grew in his greenhouse. They were easy enough to acquire; all he had to do was send to his Gran. I think I might need these things for my Potions final, he'd written. Please send them quick, it's only next week.

His grandmother would send them the second she received his letter. He suspected that she would send a truly ridiculous quantity of each herb- he had a history of messing up on potions and needing to start over again.

Parosela wasn't a great deal harder. It was probably carried in the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. A quick owl and a few Galleons, and he'd have everything he needed.

No, the problem wasn't acquiring the herbs. The problem was combining them into a potion.

Would any combination work? Neville doubted it. Potions were always very exact; a half-milliliter too much or too little, a quarter-turn in the wrong direction, a second too long between steps, and the concoction would be ruined.

Neville knew that he had no chance of solving the riddle himself, not with his horrendous grades. But that didn't stop his thoughts from wandering.

On an impulse, he wandered over to the library and grabbed a text on advanced potion making. The librarian gave him a nervous look when she saw the book he was browsing through. Even the cloistered Madame Pince, it seemed, had heard of his 'prowess' in potions.

"Are you actually going to use that?" she demanded, almost comically horrified.

"No!" Neville yelped, throwing up his hands. "I just want to look at something, that's all."

She didn't move. Her arms folded, her eyes narrowed. Her entire demeanor screamed that she was watching him, and if he put one toe out of line….

Neville gulped.

The Wolfsbane Potion had nearly a hundred fifty ingredients. The second years had never created anything with more than twenty-five parts.

He scanned the list, hunting for adders tongue, boneset, parosela, and hemp. He already knew that it contained aconite.

Wolfsbane was the twenty-ninth ingredient on the list. Hemp, the averter of evil, was one hundred sixteenth. The other three herbs were the last to be added, items one hundred forty-seven through one hundred forty-nine.

Neville backtracked, searching for quantities. His breathing quickened.

Eight grams of aconite. Two grams of hemp. One gram each of parosela, boneset, and adders tongue.

It couldn't be that simple, could it? Surely a potion of such power had ratios more complex than 8:2:1:1:1.

But, he supposed, they really didn't have a better starting point. Why not use these quantities for their first try? These weren't particularly active ingredients; they weren't likely to explode and kill everyone if combined in the wrong amounts. He should know. He'd certainly blown up enough cauldrons to get a feel for things like this.

The Gryffindor scrawled his findings on a spare piece of parchment. Eight aconite, two hemp….

Madame Pince didn't bother hiding her sigh of relief as he exited her domain. Even if he did use whatever he'd learned to create his most powerful explosion yet, there was no way it could harm her precious books. There was a reason she'd moved the library so far away from the Potions classroom.

The Prince of Flowers Portkeyed to Founder's Isle, heart thudding with excitement. He had the ridiculous desire to pump his fist in the air. Don't be stupid, Neville, he chided himself. You probably haven't found anything. Even if you have, you don't know how much water to- wait. Wasn't water an ingredient in the Wolfsbane Potion?

He Portkeyed back, sweat broke out across his palms. He sprinted from their "Portkey point" in the Chamber of Secrets (they really needed to find a new one now that Saysa was missing. What if Dumbledore knew where the Chamber was? Not that Saysa would ever voluntarily give that up, but what if she was drugged with Veritaserum?) Neville went to the library once again.

Madame Pince, who had been inspecting the potions text he'd been reading, started. "Back already?" she demanded. She clutched the book closer as though trying to protect it.

Neville nodded. Despite his sprint, he wasn't out of breath at all. "I just have to look at one more thing, please," he assured her. "Then I'll leave. I won't darken your doorstep until next year, promise."

"Why the sudden interest in advanced potions?" she inquired suspiciously, not letting the book go. "You are a second year, are you not?"

"Um- Harry's godfather- he's my friend, Harry I mean, Harry Potter- he's a werewolf, and he's really good at potions. He knows the Wolfsbane, of course, being a werewolf and all, and I thought that if I sent him some of these herbs, he could make enough to last throughout the summer so he wouldn't accidentally bite Harry. Because then Harry would be expelled, and he's the only reason I haven't flunked out of Potions yet. Well, him and Hermione Granger in Ravenclaw. But anyways, I'm back because I forgot to write down a couple ingredients."

"So you're not going to make it?" she demanded.

"No, ma'am," Neville squeaked.

The librarian hesitated. Then, reminding herself that even if Neville did do something stupid, it couldn't possibly affect her precious books, she handed it over.

"Thanks, Madame Pince," the boy said quickly. He held the text tight and trotted over to the nearest table.

Despite her surrender of the text, the librarian still didn't trust Neville Longbottom with anything even remotely related to potions. She planted herself in the corner and watched him with beady eyes.

Her presence made the Gryffindor shiver. Madame Pince was one scary librarian. She probably shouldn't be allowed near schoolchildren at all. But, like Snape and Filch, there she was.

Water, water, water- aha! Item thirty-one, eight grams of water.

He scribbled that onto his sheet of parchment. If the Wolfsbane Potion had the correct quantities, then maybe it would have the correct order as well. Just in case (it couldn't hurt), he jotted their order down as well.

A tiny grin made its way across his face. Madame Pince saw it and stiffened, wondering what horrid and extremely combustible idea he'd come up with. She made a mental note to warn the house-elves.

Neville wiped his wet palms before picking the book up and returning it to its slot. His tiny smile widened. Madame Pince began backing away.

The Gryffindor walked away, back to his dorm. He barely remembered to make sure that his roommates weren't present before drawing his bed's curtains together and Portkeying away.

He found Sirius and Tyr working on a new cottage. Nearby, Dudley tapped something into their cooking cauldron and gave the mixture a stir.

The werewolf and Animagus were discussing the Chalice and its deficiencies as they worked on the new cottage's walls. They were so deep in their conversation that they didn't notice Alexander's presence until he loudly cleared his throat.

The two men looked up. "The herbs are here already?" Tyr asked skeptically.

Alexander shook his head. "Sorry, but no."

Tyr sighed softly. "Figured."

"However, I do have some good news."

"You found Saysa?" exclaimed Dudley, face lighting up.

The disguised Neville flinched again. The Muggle's face fell. "Oh."

"It's about the lycanthropy curse," the wizard explained. "I don't have the herbs- I've ordered them, but it will take time before they arrive- but I think that I have a starting-out point for them." He proffered the parchment. The others crowded around.

"I took this from the Wolfsbane Potion," he explained. "It contains all the ingredients on the Chalice. These are their quantities and orders. I don't know if they're the same in the Chalice, but it can't hurt to try." He shrugged helplessly.

Tyr ran his finger down the parchment. "The Wolfsbane is powerful stuff," he murmured. His gaze focused. "This feels right."

"Does that mean it is right?" asked Dudley.

Alexander thought back to something Dobby had said: Werewolves can scent destiny. Goosebumps rose across his skin.

Tyr folded the parchment, placed it carefully in his robes. His gray eyes were flecked with gold. "It feels right," he repeated. "Do you think it is?"

The Prince of Flowers nodded slowly. To think that he, Neville Longbottom, who had almost failed Potions twice, had discovered this…. "I think it is."

Harry doesn't like using Dumbledore and Voldemort's tricks... but if Saysa's life is on the line, he'll use them without hesitation. He won't like it, but he'll do it. With Tyr, his friends' lives weren't in danger, so he didn't use the Mind Arts. Hope that cleared things up.

Happy New Year!

-Antares