Audax At Fidelis

by Dreamsteel

A new prophecy prompts the Nine to worm their way into Hogwarts, protect Harry Potter, negotiate their lives around magic, and above all NEVER reveal their true identity. But more things are at stake than just the boy's life: forgotten creatures and deities stir as demigods return to the isles of modern Albion, and events reveal that the fate of magic itself may be in question.

11. Ac Tuus Inimico Propior

Chapter 11 - And Your Enemies Closer

Author's Note:

Oh, guys. Wow. Seriously.

Thanks for your reviews; honestly, they were so full of praise I'm feeling overwhelmed as I write this.

Aprille A.G, this chapter is dedicated to you, for pointing out that very important thing about Piper. Thank you!

Here you go, guys. Enjoy ;-)

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The most annoying thing about being left behind on a secret mission while your friends went to organise an equally secret resistance movement? Boredom.

Piper listlessly turned another page of the book she was reading, frowning and shifting in her seat as the flickering light of the fireplace failed to provide any suitable lighting. This was one of many long-standing problems of the Slytherin common room; poor lighting, poor heating, and poor company. Admittedly, in her armchair beside the fireplace it was all right: the fire kept her warm, the light was better than the green glowy lamp things around the rest of the room, and her own reputation as a Slytherin who hung out with non-Slytherins kept people she would rather avoid well away from her.

Having read the same sentence three times without any of it leaving a single ounce of meaning behind, she gave up, sighed, and dropped the book onto the coffee table next to her, hugging her knees and turning to stare into the crackling logs in the fireplace. The book was ancient and very dry anyway, like most tomes in Hogwarts, and written entirely in Ye Olde Englisch, which did not make it easy to read even with the added anti-dyslexia spells she'd cast on the pages.

Try as they might, the demigods had not yet found anything about Jack of Kent. He appeared to be completely absent in British mythology, let alone local lore - it was as though the man had invented himself for the sole purpose of saving them from the Nuckelavee. Maybe he had lied about his name? It was possible, she supposed for the umpteenth time, but why lie to the only people you'd talked to for decades? Surely he didn't think they were going to make the school prosecute him for trespassing on school grounds, because that was either the sign of a massive ego or complete paranoia.

Yet, there was something about him which made Piper almost certain he hadn't lied; about his name, about the origins of the gods, about anything. Having lived alongside immortals, ghosts, nymphs and other timeless creatures for over a year now, Piper had come to recognise and feel the auras of people around her. It was never obvious, and rarely remarkable, but an aura was always present about a person, and if you happened to be a god or a millenia-old creature, chances were your aura usually gave off a sense of power, knowledge and pride. Jack of Kent had had all of those.

No, Piper's gut was set and clenching firmly like it did when her instincts told her she was right. Even if Jack was lying about his name, there couldn't be that many guys in kilts, swinging their daisy-decorated maces around in Scotland anyway. They would get to the bottom of this eventually. It was all a matter of time.

Now the Nuckelavee, on the other hand, was another matter. Having taken out a stack of books each the other evening, the demigods had their own mini library to consult in their private common room, as much for homework as for their own research. Fortunately, one of the books they'd borrowed had - at last - contained some information about the mad centaur. It was a thin, worn-looking book. Its pages crackled with age and the entries were written by hand; it contained a list of mythological creatures born to the ancient isles of Albion (another name for Britain, they'd learned), from Celtic deities to the common English Shae.

The Nuckelavee, it had said, was an Orcadian horse-like demon similar to the devil in its malevolence. It was able to make crops sicken and die with a single breath, and was known in ancient times to cause many epidemics and blights. The most recent, the writer insisted, being the Irish Potato Blight of 1845-49.

Piper doubted that last bit. The blight had originally come from America, if she remembered her elementary history lessons correctly, and the disease had been so unfamiliar to the Irish crops that it caused over ninety percent of the potato yield to fail within a couple of years. Plus the Nuckelavee was apparently of Orcadian origin, meaning the Orkney islands and therefore Scottish. Mythical creatures tended to stay rooted to their land.

Unless, a little voice reminded her dryly, you happen to be linked to modernity and follow civilisation around like a shadow. Ring any bells? The Greek gods and their retinue?

Still, apparently Jack had done them all a massive favour by saving them from this agricultural hooligan. This creature was seriously bad news. Its only weakness to speak of was mentioned in a footnote on the same page of the book; apparently the creature was unable to stand fresh water, which was why its victims often had to run across a stream to escape. Of course if they'd known that then, the demigods could have run and jumped into the lake, giant squid or not. It was a wonder the school authorities hadn't noticed him yet. Maybe they couldn't see him, but they were bound to notice it if Professor Sprout's monthly crop of fungus agaricus lunaris (moonshrooms, as Latin-intolerant students called them) failed time and again, surely?

Piper swung her legs over the arm of the chair and pushed herself deeper into the cushions, folding her arms and scowling at the fire, bored out of her mind by the monotonous research and the endless pile of homework they had to do. Chiron had done them the kindness of sending them to Hogwarts the very year things were picking up in difficulty, and it seemed wizarding teachers shared with their muggle counterparts the common sadistic pleasure of betting on how much work pressure students could deal with before they snapped.

It didn't improve her mood that her friends were out in Hogsmeade, either. Chiron had rapidly sent permission for them to attend via owl-post the previous day, and so this morning at breakfast Piper had said her goodbyes as the others prepared to leave.

It had been agreed the night beforehand that she would not go. Hazel had excitedly told them about the conversation she and Frank had had with Harry Potter and his friends. They were to meet them at a pub (whatever that was; Piper rather thought it was a kind of bar) and discuss ways to counter Umbridge's deliberately awful curriculum, namely forming a group.

Predictably, Percy had been unable to manifest any enthusiasm about joining a study group, until Thalia pointed out it was more like a sports club than anything else, since Defence was much more practical than Arithmancy or History of Magic. Annabeth looked like Christmas had come early, her eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that was only usually prevalent in the Hermes cabin. Only Nico was truly reluctant to join the group, but Piper knew him better now than she had during the whole Gaea affair, and put it down to the shyness he was always trying to hide and not wanting to do stuff in front of people - with people.

After a few cajolements and much wheedling from Hazel, he agreed to go, but only if he got to stay quiet if he wanted to.

"I'm not saying any more than my name," he said shortly. "As soon as anyone asks what I think should be our motto, I'm out of there."

Piper also had been eager to see what Harry had to offer. She'd heard of his exploits before (mostly from scornful Slytherins, which made it easier to determine the truth than from, say, an awestruck Hufflepuff first-year) and was interested to see if his experience could bring a much-needed expertise they could all glean from.

But then Hazel, ever the practical one, had fixed Piper with a regretful look.

"I don't think you should go, Piper." she said carefully. "If you're planning on being Umbridge's spy, best not to be seen around Harry and his lot too much, if at all."

Piper frowned.

"What do you mean? If I'm gonna be a double agent I have to be seen on both camps, don't I?"

Hazel hesitated.

"Well... Yes, but-"

"Maybe it's best if you wait a little before joining whatever Harry's planning." Annabeth said. "If Umbridge suspects something's up and wants you to infiltrate the group, she'll take whatever you say to the letter when you bring reports back to her. Whereas if you join now, it'll really look like you're plotting against her if we get found out."

Piper scowled. She could see the reasoning around this, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"But if I wait until after the group is created, won't that make her think I just let it happen?"

Leo shook his head, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking at her with a sympathetic expression on his usually mischievous features.

"Nah. You're not her spy just yet, Pipes; you're not even ours so far. Wait until you actually report something that turns out to be true - we'll plan something out later - and then tell her you suspect some students are mounting a resistance movement, at which point you can offer to spy on Harry for her."

"That ought to fool her just fine." Percy said happily. "A bee in a honey trap."

"An extremely stumpy, fat, horrible, sadistic bee," Leo muttered. "With pink stripes."

Piper glanced at each of her friends, knowing she had all but lost her ground. She knew her friends were right, but the idea of being left alone with her housemates for the whole day made her feel like her insides were made of lead.

"Fine," she agreed, her tone full of reluctance but sounding resigned. "But bring back something to cheer me up."

Hazel smiled and rubbed her arm. Her touch was warm and comforting, a welcome relief against the chilly air that penetrated even their remote little common room.

"Agreed." she said warmly. "I hear Honeydukes has the best chocolate in wizarding Britain."

"Buy me the whole stock." Piper said miserably, grabbing Jason's arm and wrapping it around her shoulders.

Her boyfriend held her close and kissed the top of her head, telling her it was going to be fine, that she didn't even have to leave their common room if she didn't want to, and that they'd all be back together before dinner. Piper let him talk, pressing her cheek against his chest and nodding along to the reassuring words, but she knew that wasn't going to happen. She had some business to attend to in Slytherin.

It had been an idea of hers from the very first week they had attended Hogwarts. She wasn't sure it was going to work, because Zeus knew how much she disliked being around the rest of her House, but she wasn't Aphrodite's daughter for nothing so it was worth a shot.

The idea had sparked during a History of Magic lesson, which quite apart from being the dullest hours Piper had ever spent in the company of a ghost - or indeed anyone at all - were impossible to concentrate on when one knew literally nothing about Magic save what Chiron had told them. Students in those lessons often occupied themselves by playing paper games, chatting very quietly with their neighbours, or simply catching up on some shut-eye.

Once, when Jason had spent a sleepless night beforehand (disruptive demigod dreams, Piper supposed) and laid down his head in his arms at her insistence, she had resorted to listening to the quiet conversations around her in order to tune out Professor Binns' droning voice. The two girls behind her, Slytherins in her own year, had been discussing one of the girls' latest love-life dramas.

"... been trying to get his attention, but it's just so hard, you know..." said the first girl.

"I know," the other had replied with a sigh, "he's nice, and really smart. He'd be a catch for you, but he's a Ravenclaw-"

At that, Piper had almost turned away in disgust. She hated the House rivalries. If your uniform was partly red, there was a chance you'd be tripped up at least once per corridor by green-trimmed feet, and if you happened to have yellow finish on your hood then there was just as much chance you would be jeered at and mocked for expressing worry or doubt. It almost bordered on racism, the way it was all based on colour - colours you couldn't choose.

But the first girl's gloomy response had piqued her interest, and sparked an idea that might just lead to greater general acceptance of Piper's Slytherin membership.

"Yeah," the first girl sighed, "it's not like a Ravenclaw's going to consider going out with an evil Slytherin bitch like me."

Her friend clucked sympathetically.

"Aw, cheer up," she said, with the sound of her nudging the girl's side, "At least it's not a Gryffindor, yeah?"

The other girl scoffed.

"Merlin, no. Most of them are idiots anyway, though I suppose a few aren't that bad... But still, they're more likely to throw Sprout's special Dungbomb compost at us than they are to say 'hello' back."

Her neighbour had agreed a little sadly, and the conversation left a deep impression on Piper, even leaving her a little troubled.

She had blindly assumed, much like everyone else, that Slytherins were happy playing the roles of tough, bullying jerks who only cared about themselves and their family's reputation. But then, what kind of bully was ever happy? And their worst traits weren't all that far off from those of some non-Slytherins she'd met so far. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws could be quite arrogant in their own way, she had learned, and everyone knew how touchy the Weasleys were about their family's social and financial status. There were some older Hufflepuffs who liked to exploit first-years as messengers and do-all helpers, under the pretence of teaching them the values of good old hard work and elbow grease.

The Slytherins definitely weren't the evil, lying, manipulative bastards everyone assumed, and though they occasionally lived up to their reputations of bullies, the other Houses were far from bully-free either. The pressure, Piper suddenly realised, of being a sneaky and cunning strategist - when you were still just a child, really - had to be huge. Maybe it had even reached the point where students actually felt obliged to be that way, because who would ever give them the chance to prove they weren't?

In deep thought, Piper had gone over and over the matter in her head, envisioning several scenarios where she tried to approach some of the girls in her House and make conversation if not quite openly propose friendship. Her imagined situations often ended up with the girls scorning her friendly attempts at acquaintanceship regardless of what she pictured as the circumstances and topics of conversation.

Still, she was Piper McLean, and she never gave up, especially without trying in the first place.

This was the thought Piper was determined to hold on to as she unfolded herself from her warm armchair and made her way over to a little homework table, where the two girls who had been having that fateful conversation were seated, talking quietly over parchment, ink bottles and several books.

"Excuse me," Piper said, feeling ridiculously nervous.

The girls looked up at her, identical expressions of formal blankness on their features with only a vague suggestion of attentiveness.

Piper steeled herself.

"Hi," she said with a smile as warm as she could make it. "I'm Piper."

"Yes," one of the girls said, her expression as politely empty as before. "We know. An American exchange student."

Piper nodded quickly, relieved at least that they hadn't - yet, at least - told her to sod off in the exquisitely-worded but unmistakably imperative fashion that many older Slytherins seemed to favour.

"Uh-huh. And, um... Who might you be?"

The girls exchanged a wary glance, and it was slightly longer than was conversationally acceptable before either one of them replied.

"I'm Calliope Hawthorne." the first one answered, almost reluctantly. She had dark hair, large brown eyes and fair skin. There wasn't much Piper could discern about her at the moment, except perhaps that she took a great deal of care about her appearance, giving her the air of someone about to attend a ball rather than school.

"And I'm Robyn Carey." said the other girl. She was perhaps more open-looking than her friend. Piper had noticed how she glanced at Calliope before answering both her questions. She had fair hair, a heart-shaped face and light brown eyes. She was the one who had been mooning over a Ravenclaw boy that day in September.

Piper nodded in greeting, and on impulse sat down cross-legged between the two girls and placed her elbows on the low tabletop.

"Would you believe this is the first time I've spoken to people of my own House in my own year?" she said conversationally.

Calliope and Robyn's demeanour changed slightly when Piper sat down, as though they hadn't envisaged the possibility of her settling down with them within two minutes of meeting them. Piper was certain she had broken some sort of formal code by doing so, but she couldn't bring herself to care. If her idea was going to work, soon it wouldn't matter anyway.

"Yes, actually," Calliope replied in a tone that was a little snippy. "I would."

Robyn's expression and slight tilt of her head made it clear she agreed with her friend. Piper frowned.

"Really, why's that?" she asked.

Calliope exchanged a glance with Robyn, and a smirk just barely stretched her perfectly made-up lips.

"Well, you haven't been exactly... mingling with us, have you?" she said, with a delicate hand gesture to illustrate her meaning.

Piper was taken aback a little.

"Well, I've... I've been adjusting, you know. Spending time with my friends, and all."

"Yes, there always is a certain comfort in sticking with what is... familiar to us," Calliope remarked rather blandly, turning back to her essay and writing down a few more words. Her face was still utterly blank, and Robyn was almost as cold in her attitude so far.

Piper couldn't understand what she was doing wrong. Sure, she knew she needed to be accepted, but she only wished someone could tell her what exactly about her needed to be judged and evaluated before that could happen.

"Wait..." she said slowly, realising something, "is that something that's not done here, having friends in other Houses?"

The two girls exchanged a glance like, Does she really know nothing? Calliope did not answer immediately as she was pretending to re-read her last sentence, so Robyn spoke up.

"Of course not," she said, "there are plenty of us who have contacts in Ravenclaw. Some of us even have family relations in Gryffindor. I don't think anyone would admit to having a connection to Hufflepuff," she admitted, with a very slight smile that bordered on lukewarm - which Piper decided was an improvement on blank courtesy, "but this House isn't as isolated as everyone thinks."

Piper noted the conspicuous absence of the word 'friends' in the girl's little speech, but decided this was not the time to bring that up.

"So... What about couples, then? D'you guys have boyfriends who aren't in Slytherin?" she asked as innocently as possible.

Calliope gave Robyn a very quick and somewhat knowing glance, but Robyn, apart from looking a little uncomfortable, did not react otherwise.

"Not usually," Calliope said. "It has been known to happen, but usually between Slytherin boys and girls from other Houses."

"And not vice-versa?" Piper asked, genuinely curious now. "What would be so strange about Slytherin girls having boyfriends in other Houses?"

Robyn's carefully blank expression slipped just a little, until it turned almost sad, and Calliope threw her a sympathetic look before turning back to glare at Piper, her gaze cold and impudent.

"You're asking a lot of questions," she remarked coolly.

Piper smiled weakly.

"Hey, it's me, I'm just trying to get to know things around here." she said. "Observation can only get you so far."

"Then how about asking your many friends in other Houses?" Calliope replied, her tone sharp. Her features twisted slightly with the merest suggestion of scorn. "I'm sure your Gryffindor loverboy will tell you all you need to know."

Piper raised an eyebrow.

"That's what this is about? Jason?"

Calliope's light snort and Robyn's crestfallen expression told her otherwise.

"No," Piper said slowly, "this is something else, isn't it?" She looked directly at Robyn, already fully aware of what was troubling the girl.

"You like someone, don't you? Someone who isn't a Slytherin?"

Robyn looked startled. She sent an anxious glance at her friend, who threw down her quill and scowled at Piper so fiercely she might have insulted the memory of Salazar himself.

"Who do you think you are?" she hissed. "Asking questions and expecting answers that have nothing to do with you. This isn't any of your damn business! Go, now, and leave us alone. Go find your Gryffindor boyfriend and Hufflepuff friends."

Piper stood her ground. She stared impassively at the indignant girl before her, wondering if she herself had ever been this obvious in her reactions. She didn't think so. Getting into trouble so often, and not to mention charmspeak, had greatly honed her ability to wriggle out of suspicion.

"You do realise you just gave the answer away, don't you?" she said just as coolly with raised eyebrows. She turned to Robyn. This time when she spoke she laid on a very slight edge of charmspeak to her voice, to get the worried girl to listen to her at least.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," she said gently. "I won't tell if you don't want me to, that's a promise. All I want you to know is that I can help. I have friends in Ravenclaw, and I'm a bit of an expert in relationship matters myself," she smiled sheepishly and half shrugged. She herself never really felt like it was true, but life seemed to say otherwise and now was not the time for modesty. "Not that I can make love potions or anything, but I can get in a word sideways if you like."

"She doesn't need your help." Calliope snapped before Robyn could answer.

Piper ignored her. The blonde girl's eyes were fixed on Piper alone, spellbound by her fascinating voice and earnest expression.

"Robyn?" Piper pressed, still very gentle. "This is your decision."

Robyn licked her dry lips.

"I..." she started.

"This is ridiculous." Calliope snapped again, shutting her book as loudly as she could and getting to her feet. She held out her hand for Robyn to take, all the while glaring at Piper.

"I don't know what she's trying to do, Robyn, but can't you see she's trying to get to you?" she pleaded, "We met her five minutes ago, and now she's offering to be your agony aunt and a shoulder to cry on. She couldn't be more obvious if she were a Hufflepuff," she spat, tugging her friend's hand and dragging her up to her feet.

Piper met her furious gaze steadily. Calliope's dark eyes narrowed in anger and deepening suspicion.

"What are you trying to get out of this?" she asked angrily.

"I'm only trying to help. I want to fit in and find out more about how this place works." Piper answered, calm despite the sinking feeling in her heart.

Calliope tilted her head to the side, considering the demigod in front of her for a moment before smiling suddenly. The smile was bitter and humourless and full of hidden meaning.

"You know what? I believe you," she said simply, no longer sounding angry, just scornful. She started to march away with Robyn in tow, calling back over her shoulder, "If you did know how things worked around here, you'd know there's no such thing as a free favour in Slytherin. Learn that, and you might just start to understand who we are."

Piper sat, still as a statue and quite numb. She barely managed a smile as Robyn's anxious and desperate face turned around one last time to look at her. Their gazes locked, and Piper knew at once what the girl wanted to say but could not. It could hardly be clearer. Yes, she was shouting, yes!

But could Piper help her with such a Fury in the way?

0o0o0o0o0o0o

By the time the sun had set and the street-lamps had started glowing in the windswept and leaf-strewn streets of Hogsmeade, most students had returned to Hogwarts. The bitter wind did little to persuade the remaining few to return to the school quite just yet, elated as they were to be free of studying, the constant presence of teachers and ghosts with no notions of personal space.

The meeting had gone well. Percy was pleased the kids here had enough initiative to start this sort of thing on their own, and Harry had seemed astounded that so many people were apparently considering learning Defence from him. Percy couldn't see why he put such little faith in himself; the kid was a legend, of course people were going to queue up for a chance to get closer to him. Maybe the tabloids were giving him a bit of a rough time at the moment, but if celebrity culture in the wizarding world was anything like the one in Hollywood, then people - by default of being people - would never miss the chance of sidling up to a hero just to hear his side of the story, or for the kicks, or - gods help them all - a selfie. Percy shuddered. After all, that was how the ruthless world of the media worked. Set up one side against the other, each time for a higher price and bigger profits until one of them either ended up broke or completely destroyed. Percy made a mental note to warn Harry of any rival newspapers looking for newer, more exciting things to say. If the guy latched on to the first self-interested people who wanted to tell his side of the facts there was gonna be hell to pay.

In total, there had been about thirty hopeful individuals to answer Hermione's call. For the demigods it turned out to be an excellent opportunity to visually meet students who thought of Harry and Voldemort along the same lines as they did, and make a note of who actually believed Harry and who was there mainly out of morbid curiosity; 'morbid' for it was only during those awkward moments that Percy's friends - though not Percy himself - learned of Cedric Diggory's rumour-clouded death.

The Weasley twins, Percy thought, would be useful contacts in the future. Those two were resourceful, and it showed. Percy had never seen anyone so readily pull out otherworldly or downright worrying gadgets from their pockets whether in the name of fun or serious business. Not even the Stoll brothers had been quite so imaginative, sticking to classic jokes and pranks over magically-enhanced practical stunts. The Weasley twins brought humorous creativity to a whole new level.

The Hufflepuff girl, Susan Bones, could also be potentially useful, apparently having relations in the Ministry. Annabeth nodded when he whispered to her and quietly added the Weasleys, Terry Boot and Marietta Edgcombe to that list for the same reasons. Percy didn't even bother wondering how Annabeth knew that. His girlfriend was amazing.

The Hufflepuff guy, Zachasomething Smith or whatever his name was, seemed a bit of a jerk - for a Hufflepuff (who were usually overwhelmingly nice) - and so Percy didn't give him a second thought, but he did notice Annabeth considering him thoughtfully with the usual expression that meant she was thinking very carefully. He hoped it had something to do with shutting him up on a permanent basis, because he wasn't sure how many more snide comments the guy could make before either he (Percy), Nico or Leo lost their tempers and blew their covers.

There was also the matter of Annabeth's friend, Marius Fell. Well, 'friend' was in a manner of speaking. Percy had never met or spoken to the guy before, but apparently Annabeth had been hanging around the Ravenclaw common room one day and overheard Marius say, with all the serious aplomb of a Ravenclaw breaching the subject of studies, that if Dumbledore did not do anything abut the appalling way things were spiralling downwards with Umbridge in charge, he personally would resort to illegal means. According to Annabeth, Marius was not of the joking or speak-first-think-later type, and so she'd thought it appropriate to bring him along to Harry's meeting. Percy wasn't quite sure what to make of the guy yet. One thing he knew, without a doubt, was that in any American high school cafeteria this guy would be stuck with the nerdy kids, the serious would-be politicians kids, or just plain alone to better think out his plan to overtake the world with the aid of robotic minions and lots of Earl Grey tea.

The guy wasn't bad-looking, he supposed, but his pale blue eyes that bordered on icy and extremely fair skin rather gave the impression he lived locked in a dungeon, surviving on ginger infusions and cucumber sandwiches (which were apparently a thing, because Britain). So far, the most remarkable things about Marius Fell were his thick mop of black curls that looked like a girl's ideal bob-cut no matter how many times he nervously ran his hands through it, an obsession with inventing his own spells, and the seemingly uncontrollable and impulsive habit of inserting obscure Latin phrases in his speech whenever he opened his mouth. A bit of an erudite, Annabeth had informed them quietly while Marius examined the finer techniques of the barman's glass-wiping with open fascination, but harmless and very handy to have near you if you needed a quick brush-up on core spell-making.

Some time later, while going over the meeting in his head, Percy wondered how long it had been since he had started considering people and analysing them for their potential usefulness to them. The old Percy would have whispered sarcastic remarks into Annabeth's ear, or snicker a little at the ridiculous jumpers some people were wearing, not sizing them up for their importance in the future. The thought disturbed him, because it wasn't clear to him if he was simply growing up, or becoming more like Annabeth and her siblings by planning every step and considering every option before making a decision. Gods knew how half his heroic escapades were based on pure luck or the enemy's utter stupidity.

For his part, Harry had handled the whole thing pretty well, though at his stubborn refusal to speak of anything concerning Cedric or the night of Voldemort's return, Annabeth had shaken her head very slightly and tutted under her breath. Later, she explained to Percy how selfish Harry was coming across to other students. He didn't mean to of course, but it was clear - just not to Harry - that Cedric's housemates were desperate for the truth on how their friend died, and all they were seeing was the sole witness of his murder refusing to give any detail or satisfactory explanation for the tragedy. While it was Harry's way of dealing with the grief and the guilt, Annabeth explained, it was also easy to see why the newspapers were accusing him of lying and even - it was whispered in the corridors - that he had been involved in the murder himself.

Still, the whole Cedric issue had quickly been put aside to cover the much more urgent and pressing matter at hand: forming a group to practise defence secretly and efficiently. Not only was this exactly what the demigods considered a viable beginning for a course of action against Voldemort, it was a great way of getting to know everyone better, establish contacts and learn more magic without looking like idiots.

Once matters had been settled and Harry had said what he had to say, Hermione pulled out a paper and suggested in a very commanding way that they all sign it. Supposedly to keep a record, but it was implicitly clear that it was also so that nobody could back out or deny involvement in future.

"The list's a good ol' round robin, sure enough," Leo muttered to Percy and Annabeth as everyone got up to sign the paper, the clatter of scraping chairs and picking up of bags keeping their exchange private, "but that girl's smart. I'll bet you a popcorn grenade that she's got some nasty little alarm-curse rigged into that paper to stop anyone from tattling."

"Is that legal?" Annabeth whispered back.

Percy laughed.

"The Ministry's made practicing magic in classrooms pretty much a crime, and here we are planning to do exactly that without ministry approved supervision. Yes, it's illegal Annabeth, but who the freakin' hell cares?"

Annabeth smiled ruefully and hefted her bag higher up her shoulder, while Leo again returned to looking deep in thought. He was doing a lot of that lately, and making Percy wonder if Ravenclaw wasn't having too much of an influence on him. He swore the guy hadn't cracked more than a joke an hour for days, now. What was the world coming to if Leo Valdez stopped fooling around?

"I've got an idea," he told them quietly as the queue to the list gradually shortened. "Let's all sign the paper, and then tell Piper to tattle on us tonight."

Annabeth turned on him so sharply her bag whipped into Percy's side, winding him.

"What?" she hissed, as Percy winced and gasped for breath, "are you crazy, Leo? Then what was all that about leaving her out of the entire business until the right time?"

Leo looked at Annabeth as though he expected more of her and couldn't believe she thought so little of him.

"She is out of the entire business," he said quietly, "which means she doesn't have her name on the list to get caught, and she's also free to tell Umbridge about it without attracting suspicion."

"But why tell Umbridge at all?" Hazel's worried voice piped up as she appeared between Percy and Leo. "That's asking for trouble."

"Not if we're the ones planning it." Leo insisted. "Listen, Umbridge is a representative of the Ministry for a reason, no matter how much they might seem like a bunch of morons right now. If they're taking control of their only wizarding school worth speaking of, there's no way they're not going to notice a group of students widely defying their rules under their very noses. If we're going to be found out, might as well be now, under our own terms and when we're not yet properly formed. And if someone's going to tell Umbridge, let it be Piper so that she gains a whole lot of credibility, and maybe even some trust."

His little tirade left the demigods speechless for a moment. Marius was signing the parchment, and there were only three people left in the queue in front of them now, so whatever they decided it had to be quick. Thalia spoke first.

"I think he's right." she said, blunt as usual.

"But what if Umbridge does put a stop to it?" Hazel asked.

"Then we'll not only be secret, we'll go underground." Leo supplied calmly.

"It's not risk-free," Annabeth worried, chewing her lip.

"When is anything ever?" Jason put in quietly. "I say we do it, though Piper's gonna wonder what the hell you're playing at."

Frank and Nico nodded their agreement, and Leo spent the next two minutes whispering with Hermione. The girl frowned as Leo put their idea to her. At first she looked angry bordering on betrayed, but within a moment later the frown had turned thoughtful, and at last she nodded before shaking Leo's hand. She glanced at the group of demigods who were waiting for Hazel and Frank to sign their names, and quickly walked over to them.

"Leo's explained your idea." she said without preamble. "It's quite clever. I had thought of something similar, but couldn't think of anyone who'd agree to play double-agent between us and Umbridge." She looked at each of them in turn, her expression very solemn and serious, as though she was addressing a suicide mission rather than a strategic move. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Absolutely." Leo said, in a tone which to the eavesdropper sounded positively breezy, but which his friends recognised of having the steely undertones of the incredible determination he was capable of.

Hermione nodded, but her features did not let go of their worried expression.

"But have you thought of the consequences for Piper? Not just about Umbridge, but did you think about what might happen to her socially if it's discovered she was the one to sell us out?" Her gaze turned soft and sympathetic. "I know you'll protect her as much as you can, but she's in for a tough time if anyone in our group discovers her role in this."

The demigods exchanged glances. Percy felt a little guilty himself. He hadn't entirely thought of that side of affairs before agreeing to it, but seeing the expressions on his friends' faces, he knew they were all of one mind. Even Jason was looking grimly decided, and everyone knew he would never intentionally make Piper miserable or put her in harm's way.

"Then we'll just have to make sure she doesn't get found out." Leo said firmly. "We can come out and tell everyone about it once meetings have started, but until then lets keep it a secret. She'll be the Defence group's double-agent when the time comes, but for the time being she's our spy, our friend, and our responsibility."

Hermione nodded seriously. She smiled, a little grimly and with an edge of tiredness to it, but it was clear she was pleased with their decision and the overall outcome of the day.

After emerging from the Hog's Head pleased and excited at the results of the meeting (poor Harry had been almost grey by the end), the demigods said goodbye to Marius - much to their relief, since although the guy was nice enough, talking to him was like having a conversation in English with Siri, set on Latin. They spent their time exploring the village. It was something of a curiosity to them, since they had never seen a wizarding building apart from the school itself - which, while magnificent in an austere and wonderfully complicated kind of way, probably did not reflect the average living standards of a wizarding family.

Hogsmeade proved to be a very pretty, quaint little village. Very much the post-card type setting, in fact. Percy was surprised places like this still existed; he doubted the place would even have telephones if it were non-magical. The cramped and crooked cottages were charming in their old-fashioned way, and though he was no expert at architecture like his girlfriend, he could see that managing to keep the houses standing was probably a major achievement in and of itself. The house at the end of the single street with all the shops even made him suspect the involvement of magic in the conservation of the building; there was no way that a wall that bent and crushed by thatching could stand without some sort of supernatural aid.

There was much to see despite the limited size of the village. Leo looked like Christmas had come early when they entered Zonko's, and it took fifteen minutes of wheedling, a promise that they would return soon and Frank's burly arms to drag him out again. That was not to say he left empty-handed; the demigods had found a way to cunningly transfigure gold drachma to resemble wizarding galleons, and so financial transactions were not difficult to lead. The coins probably would not fool any goblin's scrutiny, but gold was gold after all, and the shopkeepers of Hogsmeade did not seem to notice any peculiarity about the coins.

Thus, Leo lost no time at all in purchasing about a third of Zonko's stock and placing orders for currently unavailable items. Despite it being a joke shop, the place had remarkable variety of gadgets - curiously a mixture of both muggle and wizarding in nature - for which Percy would wager Riptide the CIA would defect from the States. Leo shoved half of what he bought into his tool-belt (as he did so he hid behind Frank's big frame, which it turned out had uses other than to intimidate scrawny Slytherins and make Hazel smirk when girls blushed), stuffed another quarter into extendible-space carrier bags, and paid extra for the rest to be delivered by owl mail. Chiron had promised them as much money as they requested, so Percy guessed Leo was using that to the best of advantages - though the purchase of fifty quills that only wrote in colour-changing sparkly ink was a little lost, even on him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Minerva McGonagall strode briskly through the for-once empty corridors of Hogwarts. There was a reason Hogsmeade weekend tended to happen at regular intervals, usually at midpoint between half-terms and major holidays. It was so that teachers could find the time to organise staff meetings and discuss whichever issues needed dealing with. Incidentally, under Dumbledore when all the administration was done either by her or his extraordinarily productive self, these meeting often degenerated into gossip sessions between teachers, so restricted was the time they spent all together due to erratic teaching schedules and homework-marking overload. Minerva usually disapproved of such unprofessional behaviour, but today she was fervently wishing it would be the case, since their beloved High Inquisitor wished to address them on several issues, which could either mean utter boredom or a titanic shouting match.

Personally, she hoped for the latter. Merlin knew she could do with telling that woman exactly what she thought of her and what she could do with her ministerial decrees.

Finally arriving at the staff room, Minerva pulled open the door and scuttled in as quietly as she could. She wasn't late, exactly - she was never late - but there was a sullen kind of silence in the room as she entered, and she was loath to disturb it, especially since the tangible hostility was directed at the very person she'd been thinking about, and so Minerva would be the very last person to interrupt that happy incidence.

Dolores Umbridge seemed to be completely unaware of her colleagues' dark and sceptical gazes as she strutted in front of the main table, while Minerva took a seat between Severus Snape and Filius Flitwick. She was flicking through notes on her pink fluffy clipboard, ticking various things off with her curly-ended quill and muttering small exclamations to herself as she went, an incredulous eyebrow raising delicately as she peeked through the next few pages.

"Ah, now that won't do at all... Really ought to rectify that - perhaps if Cornelius... Goodness me, what a mess! Does Dumbledore really know nothing about running a school?"

It was probably meant to be private, but everyone was clearly listening and hearing every word. Dark glances were once more exchanged, though again Umbridge did not notice.

When Professor Sinistra had settled herself and her long swishy silver robes on a chair in the remotest corner, Umbridge glanced up from her clipboard and gave them all a wide smile.

"Well, I suppose you must all be wondering why I summoned you here," she said with a little breathy sound that was so unlike a human laugh Minerva wondered if she did it on purpose to sound original.

"Oh, we're positively humming with excitement at learning that, Professor," Snape said in his usual acid tones. Luckily for him, everyone was far too used to his manner to worry about him suffering the consequences. Even Umbridge wasn't stupid enough to get on his bad side.

"I must say, we've started a fair bit later than I thought we would. We're going to have to be a lot more punctual than this in the future," Umbridge said with another bright smile, wagging an admonishing finger at them as they stared back with various degrees of murderous intent on their faces, then trotting over to the blackboard near the fireplace, pulling out her wand as she went.

"Now, we've come up with a little plan for the school, Cornelius and I - oh sorry, I do mean the Minister and I," she trilled with a little laugh, "I quite forget to refer to him by his title, you know, we're so close these days -"

Silence.

Umbridge cleared her throat.

"Well, we've devised a plan of action for the future of the school. Firstly, we must examine the current style of teaching. I understand we each have out little quirks and methods, but really this is the education of our children we're talking about here-"

'Our children?' Hah! It would be the only time she could ever say that, Minerva thought rather spitefully, considering no man in his right mind would even dream of-

Hush, the sensible part of her whispered.

"- so we really rather think that a more..." Umbridge wiggled a stubby hand in the air, as though trying to catch the right word like she would a fruit-fly, "... structured approach would be best. The Ministry is of the opinion that such a change of method can only truly occur if the right kind of training is provided, so we are prepared to organise seminars over the summer to gear you all up for next year-"

Minerva nearly groaned. The bloody woman had been hinting at this for weeks now, and here was the final result! As if teaching the rest of the year wasn't enough, now they would have to endure the patronising humiliations of teacher-training and enrichment activities in the hot months of the summer, led by ministry officials who had seven degrees and a dozen awards but zero practical experience, let alone originality or charisma.

If only Dumbledore was able to do something about this...

Then again, her faith in Dumbledore had lessened somewhat of late. Ever since his cool revelation to her that the Potter boy was destined to defeat Voldemort or die trying, Minerva had found herself unable to look or even think of him the same way. This was the man who offered sherbet lemons to anything with taste-buds, for goodness' sake! He collected little muggle toy cars and drank blackberry tea from his favourite Tigger mug, yet all the while plotted the future of one of her mediocre teenaged students and expected others to see it his way.

And then there was the matter of him refusing to relinquish any information or private thoughts on those strange American students...

For the thousandth time that term, Minerva McGonagall found herself wishing she could read minds. There was something about those children that she simply could not fathom. They talked, worked and messed around like any other group of youngsters their age, yet when customary inter-house insults flew the wrong way, or an argument broke out amongst themselves, Minerva swore she could almost feel the tension coming from them. As sort of power, intangible and yet there, strong and magnetic, almost electric at times.

Even their eyes held stirrings and shadows of that power, whatever it was. The McLean girl had astonishing eyes, and once you held her gaze it was almost impossible to look away, so fascinating were the colours and shifting moods behind them. She'd never really believed or paid attention to the phrase "a person's eyes are windows to their soul", but ever since that September afternoon she'd had cause to rethink that. Once, Minerva had lost track of what the girl had been talking about, unable to do anything but stare and listen to the girl's smooth, polite voice. She remembered giving her and the Grace girl an extra week to complete their essays on Vanishing vertebrates, which was odd, considering she had never in her professional life conceded to such a demand. Despite the vague feeling of uncertainty however, Minerva felt no remorse for agreeing to do so. The girl had asked so nicely, after all.

Still, they worried her. Constantly. Sometimes they even kept her awake at night, tossing and turning her body in her bed as her mind did the same with the question of those strange students.

The fact that Dumbledore so clearly knew something about them was a dead giveaway. Something was up, but then she'd known that almost from the beginning.

The fact that Dumbledore was refusing to part with his thoughts, however, was an entirely different matter, and one which struck particularly close to Minerva's heart. It stung, she would admit to no-one but herself, that he deliberately chose not to confide in her, especially since he had given her no good reason for his discretion. In fact, that hurt had been enough to spur her on to do a little intriguing herself. The afternoon when Potter and the Jackson boy had come to her office at the same time after being dismissed from class, she had just emerged from yet another unsuccessful session of trying to wheedle information out of Albus. Frustrated, and feeling just a little bit reckless, she had deliberately let Jackson overhear her admonishment of Potter. Both boys were more important to the future than they seemed, she could feel it. If Jackson could figure out some of the slightly cryptic things they'd exchanged without her express intervention, then good for him and Dumbledore could eat his silly hats.

Of course, afterwards she'd felt ridden with guilt and shame. Openly discussing matters of war with one rebellious teenager and another as witness - what had she been thinking? Admittedly, she hadn't at all foreseen Potter's careless mention of the Order, but then she hadn't done anything since to reprimand him or provide a misleading explanation to Jackson to avoid him jumping to conclusions. In fact, she'd held back the boy, and as good as told him to look for hidden meanings!

Minerva shifted uneasily in her wooden seat as Umbridge prattled on, soon unable to find a comfortable pose without slouching or cutting off the blood circulation in her legs. Her mind was no less fidgety. She kept justifying her actions to herself, but the stabs of guilt and shame kept flying back, jabbing at where her arguments were weakest.

So you outright told the boy that he'd been privy to important secret information, and all based on what? A feeling? Premonition? A sense of impending doom?

Heavens, she was starting to sound like Trelawney!

Minerva was close to Dumbledore, she knew she was. At least, she used to think so, until September when everything had gone downhill with the twin arrivals of Umbridge and the Mythomagic students. So why was she feeling so cut up about one little mishap on her part? It wasn't as though he'd always been completely straight with her, or even that loyal, come to think of it. He'd always put the school before the people who ran it, and though the years of friendship had erased any career-related tensions between him and his staff, the man was still the shrewd genius who had as much of a life in outside politics and international relations as he did behind a desk here.

Maybe he didn't just trust her with that kind of information yet?... Dumbledore was a great man, and he had a past. He also had knowledge likely far beyond anyone in this century would come close to possessing, the exceptions possibly being the late Nicholas Flamel, and perhaps Tom Riddle. And there were some kinds of knowledge that only the best and certain types of minds could deal with. Circe knew she didn't want that kind of burden on her mind any more than she wanted to attend Umbridge's dratted seminars. But she was having trouble imagining what about that bunch of schoolchildren could be so dark, so unimaginably secret that he would not tell her about it. Were they refugees? Criminals, even? Were they perhaps relations of his, distant and lost over time but for the word of mouth and old family trees?

But no, that did not fit with what he had told her. That night a few weeks ago, when they had discussed the Potter boy's fate, he had been entirely too unsettled by his encounter with the Americans to have been able to fake it, and much too rattled by their complete lack of knowledge on how they got here in the first place. Dumbledore was a good liar, and rather worryingly good at manipulation, but he was by no means an exceptional actor. And that kind of emotional upheaval, of confusion, of agitation... that Minerva knew had been real. Somehow, Dumbledore was almost as thrown by these students as she was, even though he clearly knew something she didn't.

And that was the bit that she didn't understand and hated most: if he was as confused as everyone else, why not share his thoughts and pool their ideas together? Maybe involve their other colleagues - Hogwarts wasn't just run by Dumbledore and herself, Severus and Flitwick and Pomona had just as much right to know if something was fishy about some of their students.

Actually...

Minerva dithered for a while as the idea struck her, then nodded firmly to herself. She'd tolerated enough of Dumbledore's vague answers and deliberate shunning of her questions. Whether he had a plan for it all or not, she was not going to sit about, trusting blindly in him to sort out what was going on while she wallowed in confusion and ignorance. If he wanted to keep information from her and the others, so be it, but she was not about to go it alone.

She turned to Filius beside her, quickly and silently casting a Muffling Charm and Notice-Me-Not spell as she moved to avoid Umbridge's disapproving gaze and pursed lips.

"We need to talk." she whispered, then put up a hand up to stop him as he prepared to answer in surprise. "Not here; my office tonight. Tell Pomona."

Her tiny colleague peered up at her curiously, surprise still burning aflame in his eyes, but a small smile and the meerest suggestion of a wink told her that he was in.

She turned to her other side to relay the same message to Severus, but found him already staring at her intently, his black eyes boring into her own. She bristled internally. Those eyes had always been too dark for her liking. They had seen too much, and been blinded by so much more.

"Now what, my dear Professor McGonagall," he intoned almost inaudibly, "could possibly warrant a Perception Field under the very nose of our esteemed High Inquisitor?"

Minerva repeated to him what she'd told Filius, just as quietly but not quite to the same reaction.

Snape raised an eyebrow, turning his sallow face back towards Umbridge in case the Field weakened.

"Quite the secret operation, then." he murmured. "I assume this has something to do with the Ministry's new measures across the school system?"

Minerva shook her head slightly.

"Something else, more important."

Both of Snape's eyebrows rose now, and he turned his gaze back to meet hers.

"Indeed? Then you may count on my presence, and I hope you'll allow me to bring a concoction of my own making to the occasion. Merlin knows we could do with a stimulant after this-" he waved a pale hand in the direction of Umbridge waddling across the length of the blackboard and tripping over a discarded piece of chalk, "-utter travesty."

Minerva nodded, and graced him with a small smile. Snape received a lot of bad press from students and parents alike (especially since some young parents had once been his students too), but she'd always found a sardonic side to him, one she rather liked. He could be a sarcastic bastard most of the time, of course, but a highly intelligent one, and sometimes a conversation with him at the end of the day made up for enduring all the idiotic things to say her students came up with during lessons.

A couple of hours later, Minerva was back in her study, hurriedly tidying up all the stray bits of paper around her desk before her co Heads of Houses arrived. She did it manually, because paper-tidying was one of those things that waving a wand at actually left things worse than they had been. If she were being honest, she was also doing it to keep busy. She still had no idea how she was going to tell her colleagues about her suspicions. This was something that was not in any way helped by the fact that she barely knew what she suspected, or even if she suspected something at all or was just sensing that something was amiss. Either way, keeping her head clear for the moment was crucial. The words, she hoped, would come to her when the moment came.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Minerva went to answer it, and in swept Severus Snape, nodding cordially to her and producing a bottle from nowhere. He held it up as though it needed no introduction, and Minerva smiled and nodded in resignation, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers.

Within another five minutes both Filius and Pomona had joined them, and they sat in a semicircle around her fireplace, Severus' mysterious bottle charmed to occasionally top up their small glasses. Minerva's fingers kept tightening around the stem of her glass and loosening again whenever she realised it. The drink was good; strong, rich in flavour and with a peculiar after-taste which Severus attributed to his own composition. It warmed her insides a little and gave her the confidence to gather her nerve while her colleagues supplied the small talk.

Even so, when the small chatter died down and they all looked at Minerva expectantly, she wasn't quite sure where to begin. Her hand in her lap flexed of its own accord, and she immediately scolded herself. For decades she had maintained the façade of the unflappable Transfiguration teacher for her students, and her colleagues had seldom had to see any other version of her. This was not the moment to lose control, and certainly not over a bunch of teenagers who seemed perfectly normal to apparently everyone but her.

Eventually, with another sip of her drink, Minerva opened her mouth and started to explain.

"You will recall, I am sure, of that morning in the summer when Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy?"

Filius nodded doubtfully, but Pomona snorted.

"Prophecy? Please, Minerva. It was all rubbish. She only ever does something like that to attract attention."

Minerva raised her glass at her colleague slightly, nodding but with a mask of grim resignation on her features.

"That, I admit, is what I myself would usually think. But Sybill is a creature of habit. She has a particular method for intimidating onlookers with her... skills. In sixteen years she has never changed her tone of voice, her posture, or the general theme of death to her antics. That morning she uttered a real prophecy, I'm sure of it."

She told them about the other prophecy Dumbledore had shown her using the Pensieve, how different the pattern of the words had been, and how utterly unlike Trelawney's usual ramblings about imminent death both prophecies had been.

"So, you see," Minerva concluded, taking another sip of her drink and starting to feel a little more in the swing of things, "I rather fancy that prophecy was real." Her eyes flicked towards Snape, who still had not uttered a word. "And I have reason to believe you do too, Severus."

The Potions Master said nothing, but the pensive scowl he was wearing as he swirled the contents of his glass was answer enough.

Pomona looked flabbergasted.

"You? But I would have thought you'd be the first to dismiss Sibyll as a fraud!"

Snape's mouth lifted minutely at the side.

"Oh, I have little patience for her antics, true enough. But no, I assure you I would be the very last to call her that." he said quietly.

Minerva was not entirely sure what he meant by that - she could only assume he'd seen Sybill make a real prophecy before - but decided against calling him out on it.

"Anyway," she resumed, "the reason I called you here tonight is that I believe the prophecy is starting - has started - to come true."

Pomona's eyebrows disappeared into her flyaway hair, while Filius and Severus looked expressionlessly down at their glasses. The Herbology teacher shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Minerva, please don't take offence at this, but... are you sure you're not exaggerating a little bit?"

"How, pray tell?" Minerva asked, taking another sip. "The Dark Lord, once vanquished, now come. How many Dark Lords have come back in the last few months?"

Pomona hesitated.

"But... the prophecy said something about nine warriors working together to defeat You-Know-Who. And then it said the very fate of magic would hang in the balance, as if defeating the Dark Lord hadn't been enough."

"Again, all true." Minerva said tartly. "The fate of magic has been in question for centuries. Probably since it existed, in fact. Neither You-Know-Who's success nor his fall would not solve that issue. The prophecy says: United, as one, Olympian, eagle, lion and snake |Will decide for good or ill the magical fate. I believe you are familiar with the political situation of the Separatist movement gaining ground."

"And whether that is a positive or negative omen for the fate of magic, alas, seems to be the question." Filius concluded, nodding in understanding.

"Eagle, Lion, Snake... I see Hufflepuffs are once again overlooked," Pomona grumbled, rolling her eyes.

Minerva bit her lip, about to say something to that, but Snape was leaning back in his chair, musing aloud.

"I wonder... Why mention only Gryffindors, Slytherins and Ravenclaws without including Hufflepuff? Historically when three Houses joined together it was Slytherin that was usually left out. Unless 'Olympian' is some sort of obscure reference to Hufflepuff...?" He looked questioningly at Pomona, who shrugged and shook her head in ignorance.

"Then it seems there is already an anomaly." Snape concluded. "Perhaps we should leave it be and watch as events unfold. If prophecies are to be believed, they will occur no matter what, and tend to mislead those who attempt to interpret it." he finished, somewhat darkly. Minerva could tell that personal experience was speaking here.

"Unless..." Filius said quietly, staring at his drink and very carefully tracing the rim of the glass, "Unless the eagle does not represent Ravenclaw."

Minerva felt her insides suddenly settle down. Since she'd heard the prophecy, a certain little idea had appeared in her mind and refused to let go. An idea so ludicrous, so far-fetched, she was almost ashamed to gave thought of it.

"Go on," Severus encouraged him, leaning forward.

Filius cleared his throat.

"The prophecy outlines the outcome of the coming war," he explained in his squeaky voice. "It seems to project little doubt on the eventual defeat of You-Know-You, but also, and perhaps most alarmingly, it foretells that the events of the coming years will determine what will be the outcome of magic itself. Clearly, I think the prophecy is drawing our attention to this matter above all. Now, logically," he continued, sitting up straighter as his colleagues gave him their undivided attention, "the animal symbolism towards the end of the verse points to the Hogwarts Houses, since the school is practically the centre of magical development in Britain. Eagle, Lion and Snake. Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. But add to that all the lore that has kept the school standing for a millennium and the yearly warnings of the Sorting Hat, and you can see we have an anomaly: why is Hufflepuff left out? All the stories of Hogwarts agree on one thing: that in order to overcome the greatest dangers, all four Houses must work in harmony.

"Now to promote the unity of three Houses, but not four, in the event of such a monumental occurrence as the turning point of magical history seems to me to be misleading. Which in turn leads me to believe that our interpretation of the symbolism is erroneous: if the lion and the snake truly represent Gryffindor and Slytherin, that can be seen as a simplification of the internal divisions at Hogwarts. I think we can agree that those two Houses are the ones who struggle most to settle their differences," Filius said with a chuckle and a raise of his glass to his colleagues, whose mouths twitched in agreement with him. "Anyhow, when one considers the pattern and overwhelmingly brief nature of a prophecy, it seems almost obvious that such a simplification is needed. Thus, we are left with two symbols: 'eagle' and 'Olympian'."

Minerva felt excitement starting to bubble away in her stomach. They were getting close, and Filius' brilliant powers of logic were taking them there.

"Perhaps you will consider me a fool to think of it," Filius conceded calmly, "but to me the word 'Olympian' immediately evokes the ancient people of the Greeks. They were the fathers of all European civilisation, great minds with phenomenal skills. Some scholars argue that the roots of magic lay in the extraordinarily fertile mentality of the Greeks. The summit, quite literally, of everything they knew and of everything they were, was the home of the Greek gods: Mount Olympus. It's inhabitants, as I'm sure you will have made the connection by now, are referred to as Olympians."

Silence greeted his words, for each of his three colleagues were being consumed by their own thoughts. Minerva was thanking Nimueh that someone else had expressed her thoughts for her; Severus, judging by his expression of rapt attention, was completely taken aback by this new approach to things but not at all objecting to it. Poor Pomona, ever the realist, was looking a little flustered and no doubt still having trouble accepting that they were taking the prophecy as fact.

"Now we are left with one symbol, the eagle. If a dimension like the Greek civilisation is being included in the prophecy, can another not be mentioned also? What of another ancient culture, one that usurped and crushed the Greeks, substituting their culture and beliefs for ones that were supposedly their own, but in reality were drawn from those which had already been present in the land for centuries before? A culture whose impact on our modern world was at least as large as the Greeks, whose armies conquered most of Europe, whose symbol was the eagle?"

"The Romans?" Pomona guessed, sounding so disbelieving she might as well have scoffed.

Filius made a non-committal sound and sipped his drink.

"Well, the idea is preposterous, as I said." he went on. "But I must admit I see no other reason why the other symbols leave out the badger, though I can only wonder as to the significance of Greeks and Romans in this matter."

"Agreed." Snape said, his chin resting on a fisted hand. "I fail to see what they can possibly have to do with the rise of the Dark Lord."

"Well, that's just it, Severus." Minerva reminded him gently. "This isn't just about You-Know-You returning. This is about the entire future of magic being decided, either during or after the entire saga."

Snape's dark eyes flicked towards her, sending Minerva back down Memory Lane with a jolt. It really was incredible how those eyes seemed to penetrate the mind.

"So for these Greek and Roman people, helping us defeat the Dark Lord is just a warm-up for the real thing?" Snape summed up, apparently unable to keep to the sarcasm from his words.

"Well, yes... If the prophecy is to be believed - which I am still far from sure about." Pomona said stubbornly. "There's just too much imagery in there, for Merlin's sake. Wasn't there a line about a storm... a stag, and a... a fire? I ask you! How is that supposed to mean anything? People do not represent weather or animals, nor vice-versa." She said, the very image of sensibility in her practical grey robes and prim posture in her chair.

"Well, that may be so, Pomona." Minerva conceded. "Especially as on most days I would agree with you, but I think as wizards and witches we must give ourselves over to the obvious: we already know we all have something of an animal within us - I myself have an alter-persona as a feline, after all - and our patronuses do give away certain aspects of our personalities."

Pomona looked stumped.

"Well... yes... but... To go so far as to specifically refer to people as animals in a prophecy, that's... that's like-"

"Like imitating the Oracle of Delphi itself." Filius completed quietly. "Which brings us back to Greeks."

Minerva suddenly remembered something that had struck her as peculiar about Trelawney's prophecy in August: could the difference in style from the one Albus had shown her be attributed to one being the work of a middle-aged woman who was mostly a fraud, and the other of an ancient, Greek oracle?

"You know, I think we may be on to something here..." she ventured, and proceeded to tell her colleagues about her sudden thought.

Snape's face remained as blank as it had been before, but both Filius and Pomona looked intrigued.

"You're saying that the Oracle of Delphi somehow influenced Sybill into making that prophecy?" Pomona clarified. "But how? The Oracle was crushed two thousand years ago; most of its legacy is so shrouded in myth even experts can't tell the difference between legend and the real thing!"

Minerva hesitated.

"I know it sounds unlikely, but..."

"Do you think there any links between the two prophecies?" Filius asked.

Minerva shook her head.

"They both make explicit references to You-Know-Who, and they were both uttered by the same person, but I think that's the extent of it."

"Though it increasingly appears as though they have had different authors." Snape mused. "Then again, in Divination, who's to say? It might be the Oracle of Delphi speaking, just as well as it might be this season's Falken Pixies mixing dewberries with mistletoe."

"I really hate Divination," Minerva muttered in her glass and a rare moment of unprofessionalism.

"What about the most immediate part of the prophecy?" Pomona pressed. "The one about You-Know-Who and the nine people who defeat him?"

Minerva froze midway from setting her glass back down. This was the moment. Oh, sweet Nimueh. Please let her colleagues not think of her as some paranoid old bat who took teenagers too seriously.

"Members of the Order perhaps?" Filius suggested. "Or maybe the symbolism in the verse represents different nations working together?"

"Mmm, maybe..." Snape said. "Though in total there are only seven significant magical governments in the world. The rest form communities and regional councils; hardly strong enough to get involved. And why should other nations meddle in British affairs? They never have done before, not even for Grindelwald - until Dumbledore challenged him."

"But there was a bit about 'crossing the sea', which definitely seems to point towards foreign help." Minerva pointed out, trying not to sound too obvious in her direction of thought.

"But the number seems strange." Filius said. "Why nine, precisely? It has little or no magical significance, and the prospect of only nine volunteers does not appear overwhelmingly reassuring, yet the prophecy is very precise on that matter."

Minerva's heart was thudding. Really, she thought, there's no reason for this. Calm down. Her heart proceeded to doing the exact opposite.

She set down her empty glass and braced her hands on her lap. She took a deep breath.

"Well," she said, "I rather thought this..."

She proceeded to tell them everything she had held back until then. The strange impression she had gotten from the American students from the moment she'd seen them - not to mention the bizarre circumstances of their arrival, which had left Dumbledore himself puzzled - the air of power that some of them displayed when tensions ran high in the classroom, seemingly without them noticing it; Dumbledore's refusal to broach the subject despite his near admittance of keeping something from her; his unusual leniency concerning the enrolment of these students into Hogwarts; and all the other little things she'd noticed over the weeks which just kept setting off tiny little alarm bells in her mind, coming back to her as the words tumbled out of her mouth. Odd words she could occasionally discern from their conversations; hushed voices when the rest of the student body was being as boisterous as possible; guarded answers as soon as anyone tried to dig into their background; careful, rehearsed replies from some that were almost word-to-word what the others had said.

As Minerva spoke, she felt the weight of weeks' worth of guilt in her chest gradually wobble, loosen and dissolve. Her colleagues were fixing her with the utmost attention, their faces serious and completely devoid of the humouring expression she'd been expecting. The longer she spoke, the more she realised she had been worrying for nothing: these people would no sooner laugh at her than set fire to their own brooms. They could - and probably would - express doubt, even disbelief, but Minerva was embarrassed that she had ever felt them capable of scorn. She trusted them, she realised, with much more than just her suspicions; she trusted them with her sanity.

At last, when Minerva ran out of words and fell silent, her colleagues' gazes left her face and exchanged looks she could not read.

"So... you believe that the nine people specifically referred to in the prophecy are the American students we took in last month?" Pomona Sprout clarified after a few moments' silence had passed.

"And that Albus is somehow holding out on us all on the matter?" Snape added, his face completely blank.

Minerva nodded tersely.

"That would suggest he either possesses the knowledge of exactly what is going on in the events foretold by the prophecy - which I very much doubt - or that he knows for certain that what you told us is true, or that he suspects as much." Snape concluded, still as expressionless.

Minerva's heart almost stopped. She felt breathless.

"You don't think I'm being ridiculous?"

Pomona's fleeting look of hesitation was quickly covered by her raising her glass to finish her drink, but both Filius and Snape kept their gazes steady and downcast, shaking their heads in silence.

"I knew there was something odd about them," the Potions Master murmured, "I just couldn't see what."

"There's nothing that's tangibly strange about them," Filius explained, nodding along to Snape's words, "but sometimes - as you said, Minerva - you get impressions from them, like warmth from a fire or static before a storm. "

Pomona looked around at them all with a slight frown, but whether in bewilderment or disapproval, Minerva could not tell. The Herbology professor was a good woman and an old friend, but she could at times be extremely rooted in the real, nitty-gritty reality of the world and hopelessly out of her depth as soon as things got even slightly spiritual or mystic. Minerva sometimes thought that her friend forgot that they all lived in a magical world, where things that were considered fairy tale-worthy by Muggles were as common as clouds in the sky here. She usually thought that she herself tried to live her life according to the same rules of common sense as her friend, but then things like prophecies happened and she simply could no longer ignore the fact that not everything in life could be explained, proven, deduced or solely drawn from hard facts. Her old Transfiguration mentors would have been driven to suicide had they heard her thoughts right then and now, but over the past few years - and the last few weeks especially - Minerva had been starting to accept that there were new dimensions to this old world she'd known all her life, ones she would never understand and was not quite sure she wanted to.

She hoped that her friend would find it in her to move past her comfort zone and provide support where her colleagues needed it; Merlin knew Minerva needed support at the moment, since she'd been afraid of losing her mind only minutes ago and was now one co-Head of House short of a full petition to present to Dumbledore.

At last, seeing Minerva's anxious face and her other colleagues' complete lack of opposition, Pomona Sprout pursed her lips a little and set down her glass.

"Well, I will say this. I have great respect for each of you, so while I have not yet had cause to find fault in those students - apart from the appalling lack of 'u's in their spelling - I will admit that there are rather a lot of coincidences in this whole affair." She frowned in thought. "The number nine, for instance. Their time of arrival. And the fact that they had to travel across an ocean to get here."

Minerva almost melted in relief, but controlled her reaction and settled for a nod, though every instinct was telling her to throw her arms around the Herbology professor and laugh at the wonderful realisation that she was not some sort of crazy paranoid pythia after all.

"My thoughts exactly," she murmured, gratefully taking another gulp out of Severus' concoction, the charmed bottle having tactfully filled her glass again.

Snape was now massaging his temples, eyes closed and an expression of pained concentration on his sallow features.

"I usually like puzzles," he grumbled, "but they don't normally involve dreadful poetry. So far, we've elucidated three things about the prophecy, possibly four. One, it's already started. Two, the Dark Lord rising isn't the last or the most important problem. Three, Greeks and Romans are, somehow, very probably central to upcoming events. And four, our nine saviours happen to be - once again - a group of bloody teenagers." He sneered a little. "Really seems to be a trend, doesn't it?"

"Half of them will be adults by the time summer rolls by," Minerva pointed out, though she knew what his reaction would be.

"An extra day and the lifting of the Trace overnight hardly makes a swaggering adolescent a responsible citizen, Minerva." Snape retorted, as Minerva had predicted. "As you well know."

"They seem uncommonly... ordinary, to be heroes." Professor Sprout ventured. "Are we sure we have the right lead?..."

Snape gave her a dry smile, while Minerva chuckled.

"Did you expect heroes nowadays to have long hair, leather sandals and oily muscles like the Ancient Greeks?" she teased, as Pomona blushed a little and shrugged.

"Besides, 'ordinary' is hardly the word I'd use to describe them," Flitwick remarked. "Perhaps you have less cause for conviction because you do not interact with them so much, Pomona, but I have found them far from 'ordinary' myself. One of my lessons in particular," he shuddered, apparently finding the memory disturbing, "gave me pause. The boy, Nico-"

"Di Angelo?" Snape interrupted, looking up sharply. "What about him?"

Flitwick looked uncomfortable.

"Well... There was an occurrence in the classroom which I never quite managed to explain." He appeared to pick his words very carefully. "Usually, students' pranks are very effective and occasionally brilliant, but one way or another one can usually find the method behind it. This one, on the other hand..."

"Yes?" prompted Minerva, who had not heard of this.

"There had been a couple of verbal altercations between Mr. Malfoy, Mr. di Angelo and his friends prior to the incident," Flitwick recalled, maintaining a professional tone to his words as though trying to tone down the incident, which only made Minerva all the more suspicious of its nature. "I paid it no heed, since they never go past the traditional heckling. But later in the lesson, Mr. Malfoy called Miss Levesque a particularly offensive name, which I believe caused Mr. di Angelo to rise up."

"They're siblings, I think." Snape interjected. "A couple of my students came to me about it, wondering if Miss Levesque's connections to Hufflepuff was enough to disqualify di Angelo as a Slytherin." His mouth twitched wryly, and Minerva was glad to see he found the memory as ridiculous as it was amusing.

"Well in any case, Mr. Di Angelo made no apparent move towards Mr. Malfoy, but a minute later the entire Slytherin side of the class was climbing all over the furniture to get away from mice."

"Mice?" Minerva repeated, having expected a better climax.

Flitwick nodded, looking grave.

"Little, dislocated, falling apart, undead mice." he clarified. "Two of them."

His colleagues exchanged looks and raised eyebrows.

"Naturally I dismissed the prank as products of Zonko's," the Charms Professor continued, "but after examining the corpses I must say I am no longer so sure. Those were actual, real mice corpses, who had been decomposing for weeks at least. I ran all the tests, I assure you they were genuine. And yet I saw them scurry around the classroom with my own eyes."

"Necromancy?" Snape suggested, with a slight note of disbelief to his voice.

Pomona scoffed. "At such a young age? Unlikely."

"But not unheard of." Minerva murmured.

A name was on the tip of her tongue just like everyone else in the room, but no-one spoke it, for even after all these years it carried fear and mystery that was not worth discovering.

"Well, whatever the case, the boy himself looked far from innocent during the matter." Flitwick said gravely. "I could see he was ready to laugh at his classmates for panicking at the sight of the two mice, and his two friends Levesque and Zhang did not look entirely clean of involvement either. Besides," he looked troubled, "there's something about the boy. Like he's seen a lot more than any child is supposed to."

"And power." Minerva added almost without thinking. She glanced nervously at Severus. She'd never find the nerve to tell him, but the resemblance she saw between him and the di Angelo boy was almost uncanny. Not physically, but their way of being; somehow they shared a manner of entirely concealing their thoughts and/or reactions from the world, yet Minerva had seen Snape completely lose control over his temper, and was ready to bet young Nico di Angelo would not be much different.

"It seems we are all agreed that these students are at least connected if not part of the prophecy," Snape concluded, oblivious to Minerva's inner thoughts. "Dare I assume they are connected to more than just the number 'nine'?"

"You mean are they connected to the Greek and Roman aspect? Do you know, I think they might be," Flitwick mused. "I remember now: the night of the Sorting, I overheard part of their conversation. They were commenting on Jason Grace's fluency in three languages. Upon questioning the boy, it was revealed that he spoke both Greek and Latin on top of English."

Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Could the symbolism in the prophecy represent languages rather than civilisations, then?" Professor Sprout asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Filius considered the question, then shook his head.

"I don't think linguists would be of much help in a debate concerning the fate of magic, Pomona." he said, smiling a little. "Though I wish it were so."

"Then," Minerva concluded with an air of finality, "I believe we have reached an end to our conversation. I have shared my thoughts on the subject, and now that it seems we are of one mind on the subject, we appear to have a clear path in front of us. We must confront Albus about all this, no matter how elusive he may prove."

"Agreed." Filius said.

"Hear, hear." Pomona said primly, raising her glass at the others.

Snape nodded.

"And above all," Minerva said seriously, "the American students cannot know anything about this."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Piper dragged her feet along the long, dark corridor. If she'd been depressed before and after her conversation with Calliope and Robyn, she was feeling positively suicidal now.

Her friends had come back from Hogsmeade all flushed and and bright-eyed with exertion, excited to tell her all about the shops and the meeting with Harry and his friends. She'd been showered with sweets from Honeydukes, treated to Leo's full-blown and gleeful plans for everything he'd bought at Zonko's (most of them involving a shrieking Professor Umbridge), and smothered by Jason's arms from the moment they'd entered their little common room.

Thus, for a full hour she'd been warm, happy and munching on excellent chocolate in the company of her friends.

Then matters dampened.

She thought there had been something very slightly off about her friends as soon as she saw them again. They were smiling too much, and too brightly. She'd received hugs from all of them, even an awkward shoulder-pat from Nico, and they'd taken turns talking non-stop over dinner, as though making sure there were no spaces for her to ask too many questions.

At last, when she'd swallowed the last square of honeycomb chocolate of the bar Hazel had given her, she decided to pick at their weak front.

"Okay, what's going on?" she asked.

The chatter died down, until they were all looking at her. Annabeth, Jason and Percy looked a little guilty, and Leo looked excited while Hazel bit her lip, Frank frowned and both Thalia and Nico exchanged dark looks.

"What d'you mean?" Percy asked, trying to sound breezy but failing.

Piper crossed her arms.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. You've all been lovely and chatty and wonderful friends in general since you got back, but Leo's got that look in his eye, Annabeth looks like someone suggested she plagiarised her designs for Olympus on something by Picasso, and Percy looks about as comfortable as a fish out of water."

"An eel?" Percy suggested weakly. "They're amphibious."

She shot him a look, and he gulped.

"Okay," Annabeth relented, getting up and sitting back down next to Piper, her expression both guilty and sincere at once. "Leo's had an idea, and you probably won't like it."

"Correction," the boy in question said briskly. "You definitely won't like it."

He briefly outlined what he and Hermione had agreed on while Piper listened in growing astonishment. She would, according to the plan, immediately go to Umbridge and anxiously confide in her that she felt her her friends were in the wrong by organising a study group without the High Inquisitor's permission.

When Leo fell silent, everyone was still staring at her, some anxiously and some doubtfully, as though gauging her imminent reaction. Piper, as it turned out, couldn't see why.

"Why is everyone looking at me like I might just die?" Piper asked, increasingly suspicious.

Annabeth sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"Because," she said, "if it was discovered that you were the one to tattle, you would in effect become a Hogwarts social pariah."

"And if you're gonna do it, then to keep up the illusion you're going to have to be around your housemates a lot more," Leo added with a slightly guilty expression, "which we know you absolutely love."

The worst of it was, Piper could see the reasoning behind it. Tell on her friends while it was still safe to do it, gain Umbridge's trust, make way for a new, better, fully-organised study group to exist. Win-win.

Except she could, for all intents and purposes, lose her friends.

Jason, who had been bursting to talk for the past minute, finally grabbed her hand and fixed her with as urgent a stare as she'd ever seen on him.

"Listen, you don't have to do it," he urged, and the force of his tone told Piper he had just changed his mind on the matter, "one of us can, or Hermione can find someone else - you don't have to. I don't want you to suffer over something like this."

His concern made Piper smile, but she had to refuse him.

"Then what shall I suffer for?" she asked him gently. "What will be worth any of our suffering? We've been through some tough spots before, gods knows we have. This quest is just as important as defeating Gaea, and I will do what I have to do to help complete it."

Piper paused, then winced in disgust. "Ouch, that sounded so Mary-Sue."

Leo laughed, then clapped his hands once and fixed her with his strangely lit eyes.

"But seriously, Pipes. Are you in?"

Piper sighed. Honestly, she could not see another way around it. This was a perfect opportunity to gain Umbridge's consideration if not her trust, and the only things at stake were her social standing and her reputation. The usual, really.

She smiled a little.

"On the condition that this stays absolutely between us. While being unpopular certainly wouldn't be new for me, I have no desire to be shunned here as well. Besides," she grinned, "what's all this about me having to swap you guys for Slytherins? If Umbridge wants some fresh info on Harry and co, then as her agent I'm gonna have to stick to you like barnacles to a rock."

Jason smiled weakly and tightened his arms around her, while Annabeth laughed shakily.

"Well," she said, "let's hope Umbridge thinks that too."

And so Piper was making her way towards Umbridge's office, dragging her feet and taking her own sweet time to get there. Despite her earlier enthusiasm, the feeling of satisfaction at the fact that she was finally about to do something useful was wearing off, and the real risks were starting to emerge. If she got find out - not just by other students but by Umbridge herself - then the very secret of their identity as demigods was at stake, for the blasted woman was sure to dig records as deep as she could go, and Piper wasn't sure how far Chiron's administrative security went.

And if Umbridge did act on Piper's words, how far would she go to prevent any such groups from forming? And if this one event didn't gain Piper Umbridge's favour, would Leo's idea even work at all? What if she was too obvious in her actions? Was Umbridge smart enough to think a step ahead of her students?

The answer that came to mind was 'probably not', considering her tendency to treat anyone who was younger than her as a simple-minded four-year-old (on a good day), but Piper realised just how little they truly knew about the woman. She added Umbridge to the list of topics they had to research over the half-term holidays; as Annabeth kept reminding them, they were very far behind on their knowledge of the magical world, and she was drawing up a plan for their holiday research programme even as Piper reached Umbridge's door and stared morosely at the oak.

She wished she could turn back and leave the task to someone else. She wished Jason was with her. She wished she'd seen her father one last time before leaving Camp.

But she hadn't, and this was her task, not anyone else's. She was Piper McLean, and she would follow the duty her heart dictated to her until it stopped beating.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, and tapped three times. A moment later, Umbridge's soft voice called for her to come in.

"Good evening, Professor." Piper said, closing the door softly behind her and trying to imagine she was talking to Zeus himself so she could sound passably polite. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I believe I have some information you'll want to know, about my friends. I'm concerned, you see."

There wasn't even any need for charmspeak. Dolores Umbridge's broad mouth stretched wide, and she held out her stubby, ring-studded hand with a simpering voice.

"Why don't you come in dear, and have a cup of tea?"

---

Much love to you all x